f  rontenac  lEDition 


LIFE    OF    FRANCIS    PARK  MAN 


jfrtrjttmsc 


A  Life  of 


Francis   Parkman 


BY 


CHARLES    HAIGHT   FARNHAM 

\i 


BOSTON:  LITTLE,  BROWN,   &  CO. 

NEW  YORK:  J.  F.    TATLOR    &    CO, 
1901 


Copyright,  1900, 1901, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 


HENRY  MORSE  STEPHENS 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.  S  A. 


£ 

£ 

7 


fflemoir  is 

TO 

ELIZA  W.   S.   PARKMAN 

AS    A     TOKEN    OF    ESTEEM 

AND 
A    MEMORIAL    OF    HER    DEVOTION     TO     HER    BROTHER. 


C.   H.   F. 


PEEFACE 


THE  chief  interest  of  Francis  Parkman's  life 
was  not  his  connection  with  the  great  events, 
important  questions,  or  celebrated  people  of  his 
time,  his  life  being  singularly  devoid  of  external 
and  tangible  elements  available  for  a  biography. 
The  main  attraction  of  the  subject  lies  in  his 
picturesque,  manly  character,  his  inspiring  ex 
ample  of  fortitude  and  perseverance,  and  his 
training  and  achievements  as  historian.  As  a 
man  he  was  even  greater  and  more  interesting 
than  his  work.  It  is  therefore  the  man  himself 
that  I  have  tried  to  keep  everywhere  in  view, 
as  the  chief  object  among  the  experiences  of  his 
somewhat  uneventful  life. 

This  purpose  early  brought  on  a  conflict  be 
tween  a  sentiment  and  a  conviction,  —  respect 
for  Parkman's  extreme  reserve  and  a  belief  that 
this  must  be  ignored  by  his  biographer.  He 
never  admitted  any  one  to  his  inner  life,  nor  did 
anything  to  make  himself  known  to  the  public ; 


x  PREFACE 

publication.  Being  obliged  to  save  his  strength 
and  sight  for  historical  labors,  he  wrote  very  few 
letters,  diaries,  or  papers  of  general  interest. 
Moreover,  while  his  external  life  was  too  un 
eventful  to  serve  as  the  main  dependence,  his 
real  inner  life  was  never  revealed  to  any  one. 
Nor  is  it  easy  to  show  his  personality  in  his 
works,  for  they  are  singularly  impersonal ;  he 
kept  to  the  facts  of  the  story,  avoiding  all 
expression  of  his  philosophy,  tastes,  opinions,  or 
feelings.  \Furthermore,  he  felt  little  sympathy 
with  the  political,  social,  religious,  or  other 
reforms  of  his  time;  and  though  his  views 
were  very  decided,  he  seldom  had  eyesight  or 
strength  to  expend  in  opposing  these  move 
ments.  Again,  he  held  but  little  intercourse 
with  noted  people.  The  singular  lack  of  per 
sonal  elements  in  his  life  thus  made  it  impracti 
cable  to  paint  him  in  a  picture  of  his  times 
surrounded  by  important  characters.  He  could 
be  presented  only  as  he  was  —  a  solitary,  often  a 
pathetic,  figure  in  the  silence  and  shadow  of  his 
study.  And  in  turning  thus  to  the  most  interior 
source  of  interest  —  the  growth  of  his  mental 
and  moral  nature  —  there  was  yet  found  com 
paratively  little  to  say ;  for  his  opinions,  tastes, 
and  character  were  formed  when  quite  young, 
his  inelastic,  conservative  nature  changed  but 
little  with  the  passage  of  years,  and  he  left  no 


PREFACE  xi 

autobiographic  record  of  the  forces  and  methods 
concerned  in  this  development.  Then,  partly 
because  he  was  not  one  of  those  men  who  say 
and  do  quotable  things,  reminiscences  of  his 
friends  were  somewhat  disappointing.  They 
could  give  few  anecdotes,  few  witticisms,  few 
important  thoughts,  few  noteworthy  actions. 
And  lastly,  my  own  personal  intercourse  with 
him  seemed  too  brief  to  justify  his  family  in 
selecting  me  as  his  biographer.  Our  acquaint 
ance  began  in  1885,  and  my  departure  from 
Boston  in  1890  put  a  stop  to  our  social  relations. 
In  common  with  all  his  friends  I  often  regretted 
that  his  illness  made  frequent  visits  impossible. 
I  enjoyed,  however,  one  exceptional  privilege 
and  opportunity,  in  camping  with  him  for  a 
month  on  the  Batiscan  river,  near  Quebec  —  a 
good  occasion  for  getting  data  and  impressions 
of  value. 

But  all  these  unfortunate  hindrances  to  a  com 
plete  knowledge  of  him  were  to  some  extent  off 
set  by  the  strong  picturesqueness  of  the  man, 
and  by  the  distinct  self-revelations  made  by  his 
unconscious,  perhaps  unwilling,  pen. 

My  thanks  are  due,  first  of  all,  to  Mr.  Park- 
man's  family,  from  whom  I  have  received  all 
possible  aid.  I  should  like  also  to  express  my 
gratitude  to  his  many  friends,  both  classmates 
and  those  of  later  years,  who  have  in  different 


xii  PREFACE 

ways  given  me  much  valuable  help.  And  I  am 
indebted  to  Dr.  Titus  M.  Coan  for  assistance  in 
revising  the  manuscript. 

The  chief  publications  concerning  his  life  are : 
"  Francis  Parkman,"  by  the  Rev.  0.  B.  Frothing- 
ham,  written  for  the  Massachusetts  Historical 
Society,  2d  series,  vol.  viii. ;  "  Memoir  of  Francis 
Parkman,"  by  Edward  Wheelwright,  in  the  Pub 
lications  of  the  Colonial  Society  of  Massachusetts, 
vol.  i. ;  and  by  the  same  author  a  life  of  Mr. 
Parkman  in  the  history  of  Harvard  College, 
class  of  1844  ;  "  Francis  Parkman,"  by  Barrett 
Wendell,  in  the  Proceedings  of  the  American 
Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  vol.  xxix. ;  the 
remarks  made  at  a  special  meeting  of  the  Massa 
chusetts  Historical  Society  in  November,  1893, 
by  Dr.  George  E.  Ellis,  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes,  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop,  Hon.  George 
S.  Hale,  Hon.  John  Lowell,  Hon.  Martin  Brim 
mer,  and  Hon.  Leverett  Saltonstall ;  an  article 
by  Prof.  John  Fiske,  and  one  by  Mr.  Justin 
Winsor  in  the  "Atlantic"  for  May,  1894;  arti 
cles  by  Rev.  Julius  H.  Ward,  in  "  McClure's 
Magazine,"  January,  1894,  and  in  the  "  Forum," 
December,  1893  ;  "  Francis  Parkman,"  by  Abbe 
H.  R.  Casgrain ;  "  Francis  Parkman,"  by  C.  H. 
Farnham,  in  the  "Critic,"  February  27,  1886; 
"  Francis  Parkman,"  the  beginning  of  a  biog 
raphy  by  Lowell  in  the  "  Century  "  for  Novem- 


PREFACE  xm 

ber,  1892;  an  obituary  notice  in  the  "Nation" 
for  November  16,  1893 ;  an  article  by  George 
Willis  Cooke,  in  the  "  New  England  Magazine," 
November,  1889. 

There  is  very  little  unpublished  matter  from 
Parkman's  hand.  Though  he  kept  a  diary  of 
each  of  his  vacation  journeys  from  1841  to  1846, 
he  used  the  best  portions  of  them  in  writing  the 
"  Scalp  Hunter,"  "  Exploring  the  Magalloway," 
"  A  Convent  at  Rome,"  and  "  The  Oregon 
Trail."  His  letters  are  disappointing  to  the 
biographer;  few  in  number,  they  are  still 
more  inadequate  by  their  shortness,  and  by 
their  limitation  to  the  seeking  and  copying  of 
historical  material,  or  to  the  most  external  mat 
ters  connected  with  his  condition  and  move 
ments  when  travelling.  But  something  has 
been  gleaned  from  Parkman's  letters  to  Abbe 
H.  R.  Casgrain  and  others  in  Quebec  and  else 
where. 

Fortunately  there  exist  materials  more  help 
ful.  First  should  be  mentioned  the  two  ex 
tremely  interesting  autobiographic  letters  to  his 
friends,  Dr.  George  E.  Ellis  and  the  Hon. 
Martin  Brimmer.  These  papers  are  poignant 
revelations  of  his  experiences  and  of  some  of  his 
traits.  Then  the  reader  who  has  already  some 
knowledge  of  Parkman's  character,  will  find 
many  autobiographical  touches  in  the  novel 


xiv  PREFACE 

"  Vassall  Morton."  "  The  Oregon  Trail  "  gives 
some  striking  scenes  in  his  life,  —  the  last  of  the 
manly  adventures  he  loved  so  much,  and  that  he 
gave  up  only  on  account  of  his  subsequent 
infirmities.  The  prefaces  to  certain  of  his  books 
contain  personal  references  of  value,  especially 
as  to  the  difficulties  and  methods  connected  with 
the  writings  of  the  histories ;  while  his  few  mis 
cellaneous  articles,  on  Universal  Suffrage,  on 
Woman  Suffrage,  on  Our  Common  Schools,  give 
direct  glimpses  on  important  lines  of  his  thought 
and  feeling. 

A  word  may  be  said  about  the  plan  of  this 
memoir.  As  in  the  case  of  many  other  scholars, 
Parkman's  external  life  was  unimportant  com 
pared  with  the  more  interior  interests  of  his 
education,  his  method  of  work,  his  historical 
productions,  and  the  growth  of  his  character.  It 
seemed  advisable,  therefore,  to  depart  from  the 
tradition  that  accepts  chronological  narrative  as 
the  backbone  of  biography.  I  have  tried  to 
simplify  the  reader's  labor  and  gain  vividness  of 
portraiture,  by  confining  chronology  chiefly  to 
one  chapter,  thenceforth  viewing  facts  and  expe 
riences  as  bearing  mainly  on  achievement  and 
development.  This  method  naturally  leads  to 
some  repetitions  and  returns ;  but  it  enables  one 
to  bring  many  of  the  details  of  mere  biography 
into  closer  and  more  significant  relations  with 


PREFACE  XV 

the  deeper  interests  of  life.  The  book  thus 
divides  itself  into  three  parts :  (1)  Parkman's 
preparation,  (2)  the  reflection  of  his  personality 
in  his  works,  and  (3)  the  story  of  his  moral 
growth. 

SILVER  BAY,  LAKE  GEORGE, 
June,  1900. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
INTRODUCTORY •     • 

CHRONOLOGICAL •  H 

PART   I.    PREPARATION ^2 

"     II.    PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS        .     .  139 

44  III.     SPIRITUAL  GROWTH 298 


APPENDIX  A 


359 


B  365 


C 


374 


INDEX 379 


Illustrations 

FRANCIS  PARKMAN Frontispiece 

From  a  photograph  taken  in  1889. 

FRANCIS  PARKMAN'S  RESIDENCE,  FROM  1838   UNTIL  HIS 

MARRIAGE,  BOWDOIN  SQUARE,  BOSTON Page     11 

FRANCIS    PARKMAN'S    HOUSE    AND    GROUNDS,  JAMAICA 

PLAIN „        29 

From  a  photograph. 

FRANCIS  PARKMAN „      144 

From  a  daguerreotype  taken  about  18^. 

FRANCIS  PARKMAN'S  STUDY,  JAMAICA  PLAIN     ....       „      175 

From,  a  photograph. 

THE    LANDING,   JAMAICA    POND,  AND    MR.   PARKMAN'S 

BOAT .        ,,312 

From  a  photograph. 


A    LIFE 


OP 


FRANCIS    PARKMAN 


A  LIFE  OF 

FRANCIS   PARKMAN 


CHAPTER  I 

INTRODUCTORY 

IF  we  seek  to  trace  Francis  Parkman's  individ 
uality  to  its  source  in  any  of  his  ancestors,  we  shall 
be  disappointed.  Whether  regarded  as  the  outcome 
of  his  antecedents  or  as  a  member  of  his  community, 
he  was  an  original  man,  marked  indeed  by  some  of 
the  strongest  antipathies  for  the  nature,  training,  and 
pursuits  of  his  progenitors.  Like  many  other  dis 
tinguished  New  Englanders,  he  sprang  from  a  cler 
ical  family,  all  members  of  the  early  Puritan  colonies. 
Many  of  them  were  people  of  energy,  capacity,  and 
position ;  a  goodly  number  were  scholars  and  divines 
graduated  from  Harvard  College.1 

1  Mr.  Parkman's  descent  in  the  paternal  line,  through  eight  gen 
erations,  is  as  follows  : 

1.  Thomas  Parkman,  of  Sidmouth,  Devon,  England. 

2.  Elias  Parkman,  born  in  England,  settled  in  Dorchester,  Massachusetts, 

1633,  married  Bridget . 

3.  Elias,  b.  in  Dorchester,  Mass.,  1635,  m.  Sarah  Trask,  of  Salem. 

4.  William,  b.  in  Salem,  Mass.,  1658,  m.  Eliza  Adams,  of  Boston. 

5.  Ebenezer,  b.  in  Boston,  1703,  minister  at  Westborough,  Mass.,  m. 

(2d)  Hannah  Breck. 


"2  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Parkman's  great-grandfather,  the  Rev.  Ebenezer 
Parkman,  a  graduate  of  Harvard,  1721,  was  a  man  of 
note.  "  He  is  spoken  of  as  a  good  example  of  the 
New  England  minister  of  the  olden  time.  He  mag 
nified  his  calling,  and  was  careful  not  to  lower  its 
dignity,  wielding  almost  despotic  power  with  firmness 
guided  by  discretion  and  tempered  with  kindness. 
He  was  largely  concerned  in  making  the  history  of 
the  town,  and  also  in  writing  it.  The  records  of 
the  church  were  kept  by  him  on  diminutive  pages 
and  in  a  microscopic  hand  during  the  whole  of  his 
pastorate.  He  also  kept  during  the  same  period  a 
private  diary  written  in  the  same  almost  undecipher 
able  characters.  A  portion  of  this  diary  is  preserved 
in  the  library  of  the  American  Antiquarian  Society 

6.  Samuel,  b.  in  Westborough,  m.  (2d)  Sarah  Rogers. 

7.  Francis,  b.  in  Boston,  1788,  m.  (2d)  Caroline  Hall. 

8.  Francis,  b.  in  Boston,  1823. 

The  following  is  his  descent  on  the  mother's  side,  through  the 
same  number  of  generations,  from  John  Cotton  : 

1.  John  Cotton,  b.   in  England,  1585,  m.  (2d)  Sarah  Hankredge,  of 

Boston,  England,  widow  of  William  Story.   Came  to  Boston,  1633. 

2.  John  Cotton,  b.  in  Boston,  Mass.,  1639,  m.  Joanna  Rossiter. 

3.  Rowland  Cotton,  b.  in   Plymouth,  1667,  m.   Elizabeth  Saltonstall, 

widow  of  Rev.  John  Denison. 

4.  Joanna  Cotton,   b.  in  Sandwich,  1719,  m.  Rev.   John  Brown,   of 

Haverhill,  Mass.  (H.  C.  1714). 

5.  Abigail  Brown,  b.  in  ,  m.  Rev.  Edward  Brooks,  of  Medford. 

6.  Joanna  Cotton  Brooks,  b.  in  ,  1772,  m.   Nathaniel  Hall,  of 

Medford, 

7.  Caroline   Hall,  b.  in  Medford,  1794,  m.  Rev.  Francis  Parkman,  of 

Boston. 

8.  Francis  Parkman,  b.  in  Boston,  1823. 

(From  Memoir  of  Francis  Parkman,  by  Edward  Wheelwright,  in 
Publications  of  the  Colonial  Society  of  Massachusetts,  vol.  i.  pp.  304-305.) 


INTRODUCTORY  3 

at  Worcester;  other  portions  have  been  distributed 
among  his  descendants.  Its  quaint  humor  was  a 
never-ceasing  delight  to  his  great-grandson,  the 
historian."  1 

This  excellent  divine  was  worthy  of  the  colonial 
times,  not  only  for  his  masterful  spirit,  but  also  in 
being  the  father  of  sixteen  children.  His  third  son, 
William,  was  the  boy  of  seventeen  who  is  mentioned 
by  Lowell,  and  who  at  Ticonderoga,  in  1758,  as  Park- 
man  tells  us,  "  kept  in  his  knapsack  a  dingy  little 
notebook  in  which  he  jotted  down  what  passed  each 
day."  Another  son,  Breck,  was  one  of  the  minute 
men  who  marched  from  Westborough  on  the  19th  of 
April,  1775. 

Samuel  Parkman,  the  twelfth  child  of  this  minis 
ter,  was  the  grandfather  of  the  historian..  He  came 
to  Boston  as  a  poor  boy,  and  by  his  assiduity  and 
talent  rose  to  eminence  and  opulence  among  the 
merchants  of  Boston.  He  was  a  liberal  benefactor 
of  Harvard  University. 

The  Rev.  Francis  Parkman,  father  of  the  historian, 
was  born  in  Boston  in  1788,  graduated  from  Harvard 
in  1807,  received  the  degree  of  Sanctce  Theologice  Doc 
tor  in  1843,  and  was  installed  in  1813  as  pastor  of 
the  New  North  Church  in  Boston,  corner  of  Hanover 
and  Clark  streets.  This  charge  he  retained  to  the 
end  of  his  pastorate  in  1849.  From  1819  to  1849  he 
was  one  of  the  Overseers  of  Harvard  University.  He 
added  a  donation  to  his  father's  gift  to  the  College, 

1  Mr.  Wheelwright's  Memoir. 


4  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  TARKMAN 

and  thus  helped  to  found  the  Parkman  Professorship 
of  Theology.  As  a  student  he  showed  "  a  strong 
desire  for  knowledge  and  an  aptitude  to  avail 
himself  of  all  means  which  presented  for  general 
improvement."  1 

"  Every  aspect  of  suffering  touched  him  tenderly. 
There  was  no  hard  spot  in  his  breast.  His  house  was 
the  centre  of  countless  mercies  to  various  forms  of  want; 
and  there  were  few  solicitors  of  alms,  local  or  itinerant, 
and  whether  for  private  necessity  or  public  benefactions, 
that  his  doors  did  not  welcome  and  send  away  satisfied. 
The  processes  of  his  mind  were  practical,  however,  rather 
than  speculative.  His  style  was  not  wanting  in  force, 
but  distinguished  rather  for  clearness  and  ease.  For  many 
years  he  has  been  widely  known  and  esteemed  for  his 
efficient  interest  in  some  of  our  most  conspicuous  and 
useful  institutions  of  philanthropy.  Harvard  Univer 
sity  .  .  .  was  very  near  to  his  heart,  and  its  concerns 
touched  his  personal  pride."2 

Another  writer  says  of  him : 

"  Whether  he  conversed  on  theology  or  politics  or  man 
ners  or  individual  character,  or  recorded  some  sad  or 
pleasant  experience  of  his  own,  the  wise  and  genial 
humorist  was  always  observable,  softening,  enlivening, 
enriching  everything  he  touched;  his  practical  discern 
ments  were  so  sure  and  keen,  his  knowledge  of  the  world 
was  so  extensive  and  his  perception  of  character  and 
motives  was  so  quick  and  deep  that  it  was  impossible  to 
impose  on  him  by  any  pretense  or  deception."  8 

1  Dr.  Isaac  Hurd.  2  Bishop  Huntington. 

8  Edwin  P.  Whipplc. 


INTRODUCTORY  5 

Lowell  says  of  him : l 

"He  still  survives  in  traditions  of  an  abundant  and 
exquisite  humor,  provoked  to  wilder  hazards,  and  set  in 
stronger  relief  (as  in  Sterne)  by  the  decorum  of  his 
cloth." 

His  genial  temper,  however,  was  often  shadowed 
by  attacks  of  melancholy.  In  spite  of  a  nature  that 
was  generous,  free  even  to  eccentricity  in  certain 
directions,  he  was  very  conservative  in  feeling  and 
opinions,  —  an  excellent  Bostonian  of  those  days. 

When  he  died,  in  1852,  the  Boston  Association 
celebrated  him  as  "one  who  loved  his  calling  and 
discharged  all  its  duties  with  untiring  devotedness. 
As  a  preacher  he  was  practical  and  evangelical;  as 
a  pastor  tender  and  affectionate.  He  was  a  man  of 
active  and  useful  charities,  a  friend  to  learning,  a 
punctual  member  or  an  energetic  officer  of  many 
literary,  philanthropic,  and  religious  associations,  as 
well  as  a  true  friend  of  the  worthy  poor."  One  of 
the  best  tributes  paid  to  him  was  Dr.  Ephraim  Pea- 
body's  saying  that  he  was  particularly  kind  to  the 
unattractive.  And  finally,  it  is  pleasant  to  add  that 
"  He  was  a  kind  and  indulgent  father,  and  though 
he  did  not  sympathize  with  all  his  son's  aspirations 
and  pui  uits,  he  never  thwarted  or  opposed  them."  2 

Francis  Parkman's  maternal  branch  sprang  from 
the  good  old  Puritans,  John  Cotton  of  Boston  and 
of  Plymouth.  His  great-grandfather  was  the  Rev. 

1  The  Century,  November,  1892. 

2  Mr.  Wheelwright's  Memoir. 


6  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMA5T 

Edward  Brooks,  of  Medford,  Massachusetts,  who 
graduated  at  Harvard  in  1757,  and  was  "called  to 
the  church  at  North  Yarmouth,  Maine,  where,  how 
ever,  he  remained  only  five  years,  having  been  dis 
missed  on  account  of  his  too  liberal  views."  1  This 
is  the  only  person  among  Parkman's  ancestors  who 
is  mentioned  as  having  liberal  tendencies.  "  On  'the 
19th  of  April,  1775,  he  went  over  to  Lexington,  on 
horseback,  with  his  gun  on  his  shoulder,  and  in  his 
full-bottomed  wig." 2  His  chief  exploit  on  that 
eventful  day  appears  to  have  been  saving  the  life 
of  a  wounded  British  officer.  Parkman  records  that 
through  the  sister  of  Peter  Chardon  Brooks  he  him 
self  shared  in  the  Huguenot  blood  that  often  played 
so  prominent  a  part  in  the  history  of  New  England. 

Parkman  derived  more  traits  from  his  mother  than 
from  any  other  of  his  ancestors.  She  was  Caroline, 
daughter  of  Nathaniel  Hall,  of  Medford,  Massachu 
setts.  Mr.  Frothingham  wrote  of  her :  3  "  She  was 
a  fine  example  of  the  best  type  of  New  England 
woman  .  .  .  She  was  a  Unitarian  by  inheritance,  but 
quite  uninterested  in  speculative  or  dogmatic  matters. 
With  questions  of  doctrine  she  did  not  concern  her 
self,  and  took  no  part  in  the  controversies  that  were 
raging  around  her,  though  she  had  a  profound  re 
spect  for  spiritual  things  and  an  undoubting  faith 
in  the  cardinal  principles  of  religion.  Her  devotion 

1  Mr.  Wheelwright's  Memoir. 
8  Peter  Chardon  Brooks. 

3  Francis  Parkman,  by  the  Rev.  0.  B.  Frothingham,  Boston, 
1894.  Proceedings  of  the  Hist.  Soc.  of  Mass.,  vol.  viii.  p.  521. 


INTRODUCTORY  7 

to  her  husband  and  children  was  with  her  a  sacred 
duty.  Humility,  charity,  truthfulness  were  her  prime 
characteristics.  Her  conscience  was  firm  and  lofty, 
though  never  austere.  She  had  a  strong  sense  of 
right,  coupled  with  perfect  charity  toward  other 
people ;  inflexible  in  principle,  she  was  gentle  in 
practice.  Intellectually  she  could  hardly  be  called 
brilliant  or  accomplished,  but  she  had  a  strong  vein 
of  common  sense  and  practical  wisdom,  great  pene 
tration  into  character,  and  a  good  deal  of  quiet 
humor."  And  Miss  Parkman  says  of  her :  "  She 
had  a  strong  unselfish  and  gentle  nature,  a  calm  and 
steady  temperament,  with  deep  feeling,  yet  great, 
though  never  cold  reserve.  She  had  abundant  com 
mon  sense  and  excellent  judgment,  great  penetra 
tion  in  discerning  character,  shrewd  and  humorous, 
but  never  sharp  in  her  criticism  of  it.  She  was  too 
retiring  and  self -distrustful  to  share  her  husband's 
marked  social  tastes,  but  in  her  large  circle  of  friends 
and  relations  she  was  a  great  favorite.  She  was  very 
simple  in  her  tastes,  loved  her  home,  and  never 
wanted  to  leave  it,  and  was  its  centre,  the  sure  and 
loving  dependence  of  all  in  it.  The  strength  and 
sweetness  of  her  nature  were  all  expressed  in  her 
face.  Whatever  characteristics  Frank  inherited  from 
his  parents  came  from  her.  He  was  like  her  in 
many  ways,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  grew  more 
and  more  like  hers.  She  had,  I  think,  always  a 
peculiar  tenderness  toward  him,  her  oldest  child." 
Mrs.  Parkman  brought  into  the  family  most  fortu- 


8  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

nate  elements,  —  a  mental  steadiness  and  moral  ear 
nestness  that  elevated  and  purified  as  much  as  it 
sweetened. 

This  superficial  account  of  Parkman's  ancestry, 
is,  however,  almost  useless,  nor  would  a  much  fuller 
one  help  us  where  we  most  desire  help,  —  in  compre 
hending  the  personality  we  are  about  to  study ;  our 
data  and  insight  are  still  utterly  inadequate  to  a 
solution  of  the  mysteries  of  heredity,  and  we  can 
not  trace  many  of  Parkman's  peculiarities  to  their 
sources.  Yet  there  is  a  certain  interest,  if  no  cer 
tain  knowledge,  in  these  glimpses ;  they  enable  us 
to  mark  some  traits  that  might  be  overlooked  with 
out  such  hints  to  arouse  and  direct  curiosity.  They 
will  enable  us  to  see  how  vigorously  and  independ 
ently  he  disagreed  with  many  of  the  tendencies  and 
traditions  of  his  family ;  how,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
faithfully  adhered  to  many  of  them  ;  and  again,  how 
he  often  wished  to  free  himself  from  some  of  the 
most  fundamental  inherited  forces  of  his  character. 

A  biography  to  be  worth  anything  should  have  its 
basis  in  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  subject's  char 
acter,  since  all  the  practical  accomplishments  of  his 
life  spring  from  that  source.  The  fundamentals  of 
his  physical  and  mental  being  are  the  only  keys  to 
his  aims,  tastes,  abilities,  limitations,  and  achieve 
ments.  We  need  these  keys  at  the  start,  justly  to 
appreciate,  as  we  go  along,  the  life  to  be  described. 
Parkman's  physical  organism  was  strangely  com 
pounded  of  strength  and  weakness.  It  lacked  that 


INTRODUCTORY  9 

equilibrium  of  forces  which  secures  health  and  makes 
consecutive  labor  possible.  His  eyes  failed  him  in 
college,  and  ever  afterwards  refused  their  usual  ser 
vice;  his  brain  was  affected  by  some  disorder  that 
limited,  and  often  entirely  prevented  intellectual 
activity;  in  short,  he  had  to  endure  a  great  deal  of 
pain  and  suffering  nearly  all  his  life.  In  the  inti 
mate  question  of  the  body's  relation  to  mental  action, 
it  must  be  noted  that  his  senses  were  not  highly 
developed ;  he  was  more  or  less  insensible  to  delicate 
impressions  from  sound,  color,  odors,  taste,  and  touch. 
His  physical  organism  thus  imposed  on  him  many 
limitations,  although  it  gave  him  the  advantages  of 
exceptional  energy,  a  great  love  of  activity,  and  a 
very  tenacious  vitality  and  power  of  endurance.1 

The  mental  make-up  of  the  man  corresponded  with 
his  physical  development,  his  character  being  marked 
by  a  few  simple  and  elementary  powers  rather  than 
by  delicacy,  subtlety,  and  variety  of  sensibilities  and 
emotions.  His  entire  personality  was  moulded  by 
the  master  quality  of  manliness.  Impetuosity,  cour 
age,  honesty,  energy,  reserve,  a  practical  turn  of 
mind,  and  an  iron  will  were  his  chief  forces.  A  lack 

1  "  In  personal  appearance  Mr.  Parkman  was  distinctly  notice 
able.  He  was  about  five  feet  eleven  in  height,  square-shouldered,, 
and  firm-set.  He  had  a  strong,  clear-cut  face,  always  closely  shaved, 
with  a  chin  and  jaw  of  marked  vigor  of  outline.  His  forehead  was 
rugged  and  broad ;  his  whole  carriage  and  expression  was  that  of  a 
modest  but  resolute  man,  capable,  spite  of  whatever  drawbacks 
and  infirmities,  of  hard  work  and  the  persistent  prosecution  of 
difficult  undertakings."  (E.  L.  Godkin,  in  the  New  York  Evening 
Post,  Nov.  9,  1893.) 


10  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

of  certain  elements  of  spirituality  constituted  his 
chief  defect ;  a  matter  to  be  more  fully  dwelt  on  in 
a  later  chapter. 

These,  then,  were  the  raw  materials  of  the  human 
entity,  Francis  Parkman  —  the  marble  that  his  gifts, 
ambition,  and  experience  were  to  carve  into  the  his 
torian,  the  citizen,  the  friend,  the  father. 


CHAPTER  II 

CHRONOLOGICAL 

FBANCIS  PARKMAN,  eldest  son  of  the  Rev.  Francis 
Parkman  and  Caroline  (Hall)  Parkman,  was  born  in 
Boston,  Mass.,  on  the  16th  of  September,  1823.  He 
was  born  in  a  house  that  still  exists,  though  much 
altered,  —  the  "  Lyndhurst,"  No.  4A  Allston  Street. 
About  1829  the  family  moved  to  No.  1  Green  Street, 
where  they  resided  until  about  1838,  when  they  took 
possession  of  the  house  that  Samuel  Parkman,  the 
historian's  grandfather,  had  built  for  himself.  This 
stately  colonial  mansion,  No.  5  Bowdoin  Square,  was 
one  of  the  landmarks  of  Boston. 

"It  was  an  excellent  specimen  of  the  Colonial  resi 
dences  once  so  common  in  and  around  Boston,  a  large 
square  house,  three  stories  in  height,  and  built  of  brick. 
.  .  .  Within  was  a  fine  entrance  hall,  and  a  noble  stair 
case  with  spiral  balusters.  When  the  house  was  demol 
ished  the  historian  caused  these  balusters  to  be  removed, 
and  placed  on  the  stairs  of  the  house  which  he  built  for 
himself  at  Jamaica  Plain.  .  .  .  There  was  a  l  front  yard  J 
enclosed  by  a  light  and  simple  iron  fence  with  tall  square 
pillars  at  the  corners.  In  the  rear  was  a  large  paved 
courtyard,  and  beyond  that,  where  the  land  sloped  rapidly 
to  the  north,  a  garden,  divided  into  terraces,  one 


12  A  LIFE  OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

below  the  other,  and  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of  fruits 
rather  than  of  flowers.  The  flavor  of  a  certain  choice  va 
riety  of  bergamot  pear  which  grew  there  still  lingers  in 
the  memory  of  those  who  were  ever  so  fortunate  as  to 
taste  it."1 

Later  we  see  Parkraan  as  a  child  from  eight  to  thir 
teen  years  of  age,  living  on  his  grandfather's  farm  at 
Medford,  where  he  developed  his  love  of  nature  by 
roaming  the  woods  of  the  Middlesex  Fells;  and 
again  as  a  schoolboy,  serious  over  his  books  in  the 
Chauncy  Hall  School,  or  with  equal  earnestness 
studying  nature  more  intimately  in  chemistry  and 
the  natural  sciences. 

In  1840  he  entered  Harvard  College  in  the  class  of 
'44.  During  his  college  course  he  devoted  himself 
with  ardor  and  concentration  to  his  special  interests, 
-  the  study  of  rhetoric  and  history,  the  pursuit  of 
physical  development,  and  a  knowledge  of  the 
American  wilderness.  His  diaries  of  these  years 
enable  us  to  follow  bis  vacation  trips  to  the  wilds  of 
New  England  and  localities  of  historical  interest; 
but  no  record  offers  much  information  as  to  the 
formative  forces  of  his  life.  In  his  freshman  year  he 
"chummed"  with  his  classmate  Benjamin  Apthorp 
Gould  in  No.  9  Holworthy  Hall.  After  that  he  had 
a  room  to  himself,  —  a  condition  better  suited  to  his 
reserved  and  studious  nature.  When  sophomore  he 
lived  at  Mrs.  Ayers's  on  the  corner  of  Garden  Street 
and  the  Appian  Way ;  in  the  junior  year  he  lived  in 

1  Wheelwright. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  13 

24  Massachusetts  Hall,  during  the  senior  year  in  21 
of  the  same  building. 

For  the  first  year  of  his  law  course,  1844-5,  he 
occupied  No.  7  Divinity  Hall ;  after  that  date  he 
generally  lived  with  his  parents,  until  his  marriage 
in  1850. 

It  was  in  1841  that  he  began  the  researches  and 
experiences  that  were  to  fit  him  for  his  work,  making 
his  first  trip  to  the  wilderness  with  Daniel  D.  Slade, 
passing  through  Portsmouth  to  Alton,  thence  along 
Lake  Winnipesaukee  to  Centre  Harbor;  on  to  the 
Notch  and  up  Mount  Washington;  thence  to  Franconia 
Notch,  Lancaster,  Colebrook,  Dixville  Notch,  thence 
to  the  Androscoggin  river  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Magalloway,  and  up  this  river  to  its  junction  with 
the  Little  Magalloway. 

The  next  year,  in  company  with  Henry  Orne 
White,  he  made  a  second  trip  to  the  Magalloway. 
They  passed  through  Albany,  Saratoga,  and  Glens 
Falls  to  Lake  George.  After  studying  the  battle 
fields  about  Caldwell  they  hired  a  rowboat  and  spent 
a  week  camping  along  the  shores  of  the  lake,  —  fish 
ing,  shooting,  climbing  mountains,  and  hunting  rattle 
snakes.  At  Sabbath  Day  Point  he  tarried  a  day  to 
gather  from  an  old  Revolutionary  pensioner,  Captain 
Patchen,  traditions  connected  with  the  region.  After 
a  careful  examination  of  Ticonderoga  the  two  crossed 
Lake  Champlain  to  Burlington,  and  there  began 
their  walk  to  Canada  and  the  head-waters  of  the 
Magalloway.  They  passed  through  Essex,  Jericho, 


.14  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Underbill,  Cambridge,  Johnson,  Troy,  Stanstead, 
Barnston  and  Canaan,  and  finally  reached  Connecti 
cut  Lake.  From  this  point  onward  their  journey  is 
described  in  "  Harper's  Magazine "  for  November, 
1864.  Parkrnan  often  expressed  a  particular  fondness 
for  Lake  George ;  it  was  perhaps,  after  his  home,  the 
corner  of  the  earth  most  dear  to  him.  As  the  object 
of  his  first  literary  pilgrimage,  it  stirred  his  imagina 
tion  strongly  both  by  its  beautiful  scenery  and  its 
exceptional  wealth  of  historical  traditions. 

In  the  winter  vacation  of  1843  he  visited  his  class 
mates  Hale  and  Perry,  at  Keerie,  N.  H. 

« 

4  ( It  was  doubtless  with  recollections  of  this  visit  and 
of  others  in  his  mind,  that  in  the  last  published  volume 
of  his  histories,  Parkman  speaks  of  Keene  as  '  a  town 
noted  in  rural  New  England  for  kindly  hospitality,  cul 
ture  without  pretence,  and  good  breeding  without  con 
ventionality/  *  His  two  classmates  were  not  the  only 
acquaintances  he  had  in  this  delightful  New  Hampshire 
town.  Two  years  before,  while  with  Slade  in  the  White 
Mountains,  he  had  fallen  in  with  a  lively  party  of  travel 
lers  from  this  place,  arid  one  young  lady  in  particular  had 
charmed  him  by  the  '  laughing  philosophy 9  with  which 
she  had  taken  i  a  ducking'  in.  his  company  while  passing 
through  the  Notch  on  the  stage  and  in  a  pouring  rain. 
Still  more  was  he  pleased  by  the  f  strength  and  spirit  and 
good-humor '  she  had  shown  in  the  ascent  of  Mount  Wash 
ington.  With  this  lady,  who  afterwards  married  a  dis 
tinguished  citizen  of  her  native  State,2  Parkman  kept  up 
a  lifelong  friendship." 

i  A  Half  Century,  vol.  ii.  p.  230.  2  Wheelwright 


CHRONOLOGICAL  15 

There  is  no  reference  in  diaries  or  letters  of  1843 
to  any  journey  to  the  wilderness.  But  he  made  a 
trip  to  Canada  for  historical  materials,  examining 
again  on  the  way  the  battlefields  of  Lake  George 
and  Lake  Champlain,  going  on  to  St.  Johns  and 
Chambly,  and  visiting  Montreal.  He  gathered  notes 
of  the  Hope  Gate  and  other  important  localities  at 
Quebec,  and  on  his  way  back  to  Boston  through  the 
White  Mountains,  noted  many  stories  of  frontier  life 
and  border  warfare.  Perhaps  it  was  at  this  time 
that  he  made  the  trip  to  which  he  refers  in  "  Mont- 
calm  and  Wolfe  " : 

"I  once,  when  a  college  student,  followed  on  foot  the 
route  of  Rogers  from  Lake  Memphremagog  to  the  Con 
necticut." 

He  then  went  to  Maine  to  study  the  Indians  near 
Bangor  and  to  collect  the  traditions  of  their  wars 
with  the  Mohawks.  This  vacation  was  evidently 
something  else  than  the  collegian's  usual  season  of 
idleness.  This  nineteenth  summer  of  his  life,  the 
beginning  of  his  exclusive  devotion  to  historical 
labors,  witnessed  the  birth  of  the  deep  enthusiasm 
that  later  overcame  such  remarkable  obstacles,  and 
infused  his  persistent  industry  with  heroism. 

In  September  he  visited  Europe,  making  the  tour 
we  shall  follow  in  his  diaries. 

In  1844,  after  a  creditable  though  not  brilliant 
college  career,  he  graduated  from  Harvard  and 
entered  the  Harvard  Law  School. 


16  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAET 

uHe  was  a  member,  while  in  college,  of  the  Institute 
of  1770,  of  the  I.  0.  H.,  of  the  Hasty  Pudding  Club,  — 
of  which  he  was  successively  Vice-President  and  Presi 
dent,  —  of  the  Harvard  Natural  History  Society,  —  of 
which  he  was  Corresponding  and  Recording  Secretar}^ 
and  Curator  of  Mineralogy,  — of  the  C.  C.  or  Chit-Chat, 
of  the  short-lived  E.  T.  D.,  and  of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa."  l 

The  vacations  of  this  year  he  devoted  to  historical 
research.  Taking  his  rifle  he  tramped  alone  over  the 
hills  of  western  Massachusetts,  to  study  the  routes 
followed  by  the  French  and  Indians  in  their  attacks 
on  that  region.  He  passed  through  Springfield, 
Cabotville  (old  name  of  Chicopee),  Chester  Factory, 
Lee,  Stockbridge,  Great  Barrington,  Mount  Wash 
ington,  Lebanon  Springs,  Stephentown,  the  Hopper 
and  North  Adams. 

The  diary  of  1845  shows  that  he  had  now  focussed 
his  ambitions  on  a  definite  work  —  the  Conspiracy  of 
Pontiac.  In  April  of  that  year  he  made  a  trip  to  St. 
Louis,  and  spent  the  summer  in  collecting  materials 
for  this  volume.  He  visited  Lancaster,  Paradise, 
Harrisburg,  Williamsport,  Trout  Run,  Blossburg, 
Corning,  Seneca  Lake,  Rochester,  Buffalo,  Detroit, 
Windsor,  Sandwich,  Mackinaw,  Sault  Ste.  Marie, 
Palmer,  Newport,  Niagara,  the  Devil's  Hole,  Fort 
Niagara,  Oswego,  Syracuse  and  Onondaga  Castle. 
In  all  these  journeys  he  showed  indefatigable  energy 
and  alertness,  and  while  his  main  interest  was  histor 
ical  research,  in  which  pursuit  he  noted  the  scenery 
of  historic  places,  examined  family  papers  and  other 

1  Wheelwright's  Class  of  18U,  P-  162. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  17 

documents,  and  wherever  it  was  possible  interviewed 
descendants  of  the  actors  in  his  historic  drama,  his 
diary  reveals  almost  as  much  of  interest  in  nature, 
human  nature,  and  civilization.  The  sketches  he 
contributed  to  the  "  Knickerbocker  Magazine "  1 
show  something  of  these  tendencies  crystallized  in 
literary  forms. 

In  the  winter  of  1846  he  made  a  trip  through  Penn 
sylvania,  visiting  Trenton,  Philadelphia,  Washing 
ton,  Baltimore,  Harrisburg,  Carlisle,  Chambersburg 
and  Pittsburg.  This  year  is  marked  also  by  his  most 
adventurous  and  important  expedition,  the  trip  of  the 
Oregon  Trail. 

His  classmate,  Mr.  Wheelwright,  has  given  us 
the  following  glimpse  of  Parkman's  social  life  in 
college : 

"His  boarding-place  during  the  greater  part  of  his 
College  course  was  at  Mrs.  Schutte's,  a  lady  who  kept 
an  excellent  table  at  what  was  thought  a  very  moderate 
price  even  in  those  days.  The  company  was  numerous, 
comprising  representatives  of  all  the  classes.  Much 
lively  and  interesting  talk  went  on  there,  at  and  after 
meals,  and  not  a  little  good-natured  chaffing.  Almost  all 
the  guests  had  some  soubriquet  conferred  upon  them,  more 
or  less  indicative  of  their  characters,  or  of  some  peculiar 
ity  of  appearance  or  manner.  Some  of  these,  from  their 
happy  appropriateness,  soon  spread  beyond  the  coterie 
where  they  originated,  and  have  even  clung  to  their  re 
cipients  through  life.  Such  was  not  the  case  with  that 

1  See  the  list  of  his  works  in  Appendix. 
2 


18  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

bestowed  upon  Mr.  Parkman.  From  being  oftener  an 
amused  listener  to  conversation  than  an  active  parti 
cipant  in  it,  be  was  called  lucus  a  non  lucendo,  l  The 
Loquacious/  a  title  so  absurdly  inappropriate  that  his 
college  friends  to-day  recall  it  with  difficulty.  Far  from 
being  the  unsocial  character  this  ironical  nickname  would 
imply,  Mr.  Parkman  keenly  enjoyed  the  society  of  his 
fellow-students.  Never  boisterous  in  his  mirth,  he  was 
by  no  means  averse  to  taking  part  in  merrymakings  and 
festivities.  He  was  catholic  in  his  likings,  and  had 
already  begun  to  develop  that  keen  insight  into  char 
acter  which  is  one  of  the  striking  features  of  his  his 
torical  writings.  He  could  penetrate  within  the  outer 
covering  of  mannerisms  and  affectations,  and  see  the  man 
himself.  He  enjoyed  with  equal  zest  the  wild  exuber 
ance  of  William  Morris  Hunt  and  the  placid  philosophy 
of  George  Blankern  Gary.  He  took  a  lively  interest  in 
all  that  went  on  in  College,  and  was  always  ready  to  do 
his  share  in  protesting  against  abuses  and  redressing 
wrongs.  An  instance  of  this  is  recorded  in  the  contem 
porary  journal  of  a  classmate.  At  one  time,  in  the 
Sophomore  year,  the  Latin  professor,  Dr.  Beck,  adopted 
the  arbitrary  and  novel  practice  of  calling  the  roll  in 
his  recitation-room  at  precisely  the  hour,  instead  of  five 
minutes  after,  as  had  been  the  immemorial  custom,  and 
also  of  marking  as  absent  all  who  simply  came  late. 
Parkman  thereupon  drew  up  a  memorial,  remonstrating 
against  the  innovation,  obtained  the  signatures  of  the 
principal  members  of  the  class,  and  sent  it  to  the  Fac 
ulty.  And  the  remonstrance  had  the  desired  effect."  .  .  . 
"  Though  rather  fond  of  calling  upon  his  classmates,  with 
whom  he  was  always  popular,  he  rarely  asked  them  to 


CHRONOLOGICAL  19 

visit  him  in  return.  One  reason  probably  was  that  he  was 
very  little  in  his  own  room,  except  at  night  for  the  pur 
pose  of  sleeping.  His  constant  craving  for  bodily  exer 
cise  kept  him  out-of-doors  or  at  the  gymnasium  the 
greater  part  of  the  day.  Moreover,  as  is  now  known, 
he  had  already  begun  to  read  such  books  as  he  thought 
suited  to  help  him  toward  the  attainment  of  his  great 
object,  already  well  outlined  in  his  mind.  He  did  not 
care  to  have  these  secret  studies  interrupted  by  chance 
callers,  who  might  also  discover  in  his  room  some  traces 
of  the  '  lucubrations  '  which  he  says  he  pursued  at  this 
time  'with  a  pernicious  intensity/  keeping  his  plans  and 
purposes  to  himself,  while  passing  among  his  companions 
as  an  outspoken  fellow.7' l 

Parkman's  reserve  as  to  his  literary  ambition  was 
somewhat  exceptional.  He  not  only  published  his 
first  productions  anonymously,  but  he  persistently 
denied  any  such  ambition  as  late  as  1845.  In  the 
following  letter  to  his  classmate,  George  B.  Gary, 
he  said: 

CAMBRIDGE,  Dec.  15,  '44. 

DEAR  GEORGE,  —  Here  am  I,  down  in  Divinity  Hall  (!) 
enjoying  to  my  heart's  content  that  otium  cum  dignitate 
which  you  so  affectionately  admire;  while  you,  poor 
devil,  are  being  jolted  in  English  coaches,  or  suffering 
the  cramp  in  both  legs  on  the  banquette  of  a  French 
diligence.  Do  you  not  envy  me  in  my  literary  ease  ?  — 
a  sea-coal  fire  —  a  dressing-gown  —  slippers  —  a  favorite 
author;  all  set  off  by  an  occasional  bottle  of  champagne, 
or  a  bowl  of  stewed  oysters  at  Washburn's  ?  This  is  the 
i  Wheelwright. 


20  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

cream  of  existence.  To  lay  abed  in  the  morning,  till 
the  sun  has  half  melted  away  the  trees  and  castles  on 
the  window-panes,  and  Nigger  Lewis's  fire  is  almost 
burnt  out,  listening  meanwhile  to  the  steps  of  the 
starved  Divinities  as  they  rush  shivering  and  panting 
to  their  prayers  and  recitations  —  then  to  get  up  to  a 
fashionable  breakfast  at  eleven  —  then  go  to  lecture  — 
find  it  a  little  too  late,  and  adjourn  to  Joe  Peabody's 
room,  for  a  novel,  conversation,  and  a  morning  glass  of 
madeira  —  while  you  are  puckering  your  lips  over  bad 
vin  ordinaire  in  a  splendid  cafe,  and  screaming  gargon 
in  vain  hope  of  relief.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  George, 
this  is  leading  a  happier  life,  by  your  own  showing,  than 
to  be  encountering  the  hard  knocks  and  vexations  of  a 
traveller's  existence.  After  all,  man  was  made  to  be 
happy;  ambition  is  a  humbug  —  a  dream  of  youth;  and 
exertion  another;  leave  those  to  Freshmen  and  divinities. 
I  think  the  morbid  tendency  to  unnecessary  action  passes 
away  as  manhood  comes  on;  at  any  rate,  I  have  never 
been  half  so  quiescent  as  since  I  was  qualified  to  vote 
against  Polk  and  Dallas. 

Perhaps  you  may  imagine  me  under  some  vinous  influ 
ence  in  writing  thus.  Not  at  all;  yet  if  I  had  written 
this  a  few  nights  ago,  perhaps  it  might  have  smacked 
more  of  inspiration.  We  had  a  class  spree!  where,  if 
there  was  not  much  wit,  there  was,  as  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield  says,  a  great  deal  of  laughing,  not  to  mention 
singing,  roaring,  and  unseemly  noises  of  a  miscellaneous 
character.  There  was  Gould,  and  Farnsworth,  Wild, 
Batchelder,  and  numbers  more  of  the  same  renown.  Joe 
also  gave  an  entertainment  not  long  ago,  where,  if  there 
was  not  so  much  noise  made,  there  were  better  jokes 


CHRONOLOGICAL  21 

cracked  and  better  champagne  opened.  And  now,  what 
are  you  doing;  a  cup  of  coffee  at  Very's,  perhaps;  then 
a  lounge,  quizzing  glass  at  eye,  in  the  Louvre,  followed 
by  a  ditto  on  the  Italian  Boulevard,  and  a  fifty-franc 
dinner  at  the  Trois  Freres.  What  supplement  shall  I 
add  to  this?  You  will  not  be  sorry,  I  dare  say,  to  hear 
a  word  of  some  brethren  of  your  nodes  ambrosiance, 
though  I  imagine  that  those  nodes  do  not  now  appear 
very  ambrosial  on  the  retrospect.  Hale  vibrates  between 
Law  and  Gospel.  I  fear  the  chances  are  a  little  in  favor 
of  the  Devil.  Snow  is  established  in  Graduates'  Hall, 
with  two  pianos,  Shelley,  and  a  half-cask  of  ale.  He  now 
and  then  appears  at  the  one  o'clock  lecture,  rubbing  his 
eyes  and  gaping.  Clarke  is  here,  taking  boxing  lessons. 
Ned  is  in  town,  a  counter-jumper  by  day,  and  a  literary 
character  by  night;  on  the  way  to  make  a  very  sensible 
and  accomplished  man.  Perry  has  been  hunting  deer  and 
killing  partridges,  and  would  fain  persuade  a  quiet  fellow 
like  me  to  leave  Cambridge  and  join  him;  but  I  preferred 
a  pleasant  fireside.  Old  Treadwell  is  splashing  about  in 
the  muddy  waters  of  politics  and  law.  Our  brothers, 
whilom  of  X  X,  accused  me  in  the  beginning  of  the  term 
of  an  intention  of  authorship!  probably  taking  the  hint 
from  the  circumstance  of  my  never  appearing  till  eleven 
o'clock,  a  la  Scott ;  but  I  believe  they  no  longer  suspect 
me  of  so  ill  advised  an  intention.  It  would  run  a  little 
counter  to  my  present  principles,  though  I  do  remember 

the  time  when  G.  B.  C.  meditated  the  Bar®n  of  B ; 

and  Snow  felt  sure  (in  his  cups)  of  being  Captain  General 
of  Transatlantic  literature,  while  your  humble  servant's 
less  soaring  ambition  aspired  to  the  manufacture  of  blood 
and  thunder  chronicles  of  Indian  squabbles  and  massa- 


22  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

cres.  But  I  have  discovered  a  new  vein  of  talent,  which 
I  think  you  did  not  suspect.  In  fact,  /  did  not  dream 
I  could  play  the  hypocrite  so  well  as  to  deceive  your  dis 
cerning  ej^e,  on  my  return  from  Europe.  I  think  I  did, 
however :  and  I  helieve  you  embarked  in  the  impression 
that  foreign  travel  had  wasted  all  its  charms  on  my 
incorrigible  idiosyncrasy.  You  will  answer  this,  will 
you  not  ?  I  am  very  eager  to  hear  from  you. l 
Yours  truly, 

F.  PARKMAN. 

Parkman  still  concealed  the  master  passion  of 
his  soul  when  writing  to  another  of  his  most  intimate 
friends,  the  next  year : 

"By  the  way,  what  do  you  mean  by  charging  me  (for 
the  fourth  time,  is  it  ?)  with  a  design  to  write  a  novel,  or 
a  poem,  or  an  essay,  or  whatever  it  is  ?  Allow  me  to  tell 
you  that  though  the  joke  may  be  good,  it  is  certainly 
old.  ...  If  you  catch  me  writing  anything  of  the  sort,  you 
might  call  me  a  < darned  fool7  with  great  propriety  as 
well  as  elegance.772 

In  answer  to  his  friend's  charge  of  deception,  he 
wrote: 

"He  [a  mutual  friend]  tells  me  besides  that  you 
threaten  me  with  vengeance  for  deceiving  you  as  to  my 
intention  of  'publication,7  to  which  charge  I  most  em 
phatically  plead  not  guilty,  and  deprecate  your  wrath.  I 
think  an  occasional  'posterior,7  as  Perry  calls  them,  in 
the  '  Knickerbocker '  will  hardly  put  me  in  the  predica- 

1  Letter  to  G.  B.  Gary. 

2  To  G.  S.  Hale,  Feb.  13,  1845. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  23 

merit  of  a  publisher,  and  I  did  not  suspect  that  i  literary 
intentions '  had  with  you  so  comprehensive  a  signifi 
cation."  1 

Although  the  following  letter  is  not  important  for 
its  contents,  it  has  a  certain  interest  as  the  only  auto 
biographic  offset  to  the  Spartan  spirit  that  ruled  his 
life. 

He  wrote  to  G.  S.  Hale,  Nov.  24,  1844 : 

"We  wanted  you  the  other  night.  Joe  got  up  one  of 
his  old-fashioned  suppers,  on  a  scale  of  double  magnifi 
cence,  inviting  thereunto  every  specimen  of  the  class  of 
'44  that  lingered  within  an  accessible  distance.  There 
was  old  S.  and  Snaggy,  N.  D.,  Ned  W.  (who,  by  the  way, 
is  off  for  Chili !),  P.,  etc.,  etc.  The  spree  was  worthy  of 
the  entertainment.  None  got  drunk,  but  all  got  jolly; 
and  Joe's  champagne  disappeared  first;  then  his  madeira; 
and  his  whiskey  punch  would  have  followed  suit,  if  its 
copious  supplies  had  not  prevented.  At  first,  all  was 
quiet  and  dignified,  not  unworthy  of  graduates;  but  at 
length  the  steam  found  vent  in  three  cheers  for  ?44,  and 
after  that  we  did  not  cease  singing  and  roaring  till  one 
o'clock.  Even  my  hideous  voice  grew  musical;  I  suc 
ceeded  in  actually  singing  in  the  chorus  to  '  Yankee 
Doodle,'  without  perceptibly  annoying  the  rest.  At 
length,  all  deserted,  except  a  chosen  few.  Old  S.  sat 
on  the  rocking-chair,  with  one  foot  on  the  table,  and  the 
other  on  his  neighbor's  shoulder,  laughing  and  making 
execrable  puns.  He  had  the  key  of  the  door  in  his  pocket 
so  that  nobody  could  get  out.  The  whole  ended  with 
smashing  a  dozen  bottles  against  the  Washington  [word 
1  To  G.  S.  Hale,  April  24,  1845. 


24  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

illegible],  and  a  war-dance  with  scalp-yells  in  the  middle 
of  the  Common,  in  the  course  of  which  several  night- 
capped  heads  appeared  at  the  opened  windows  of  the 
astonished  neighbors." 

As  Parkman  was  already  guided  by  the  literary 
ambition  that  governed  his  entire  career,  we  can 
appropriately  take  that  purpose  as  the  thread  on 
which  to  string  the  facts  of  his  subsequent  external 
life.  Such  a  course  is  all  the  clearer  since  he  rarely 
made  a  journey  or  undertook  any  labor  disconnected 
from  his  work.  But  unfortunately  there  is  little 
material  out  of  which  to  spin  this  thread,  and  the 
thread  itself  is  rarely  met  with  in  our  scanty 
biographical  details. 

At  the  close  of  the  year  1846  he  had  seen  most  of 
the  remnants  of  Indian  tribes  to  be  found  from  Maine 
to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  visited  nearly  all  the  locali 
ties  connected  with  his  theme,  and  gathered  what 
could  be  procured  of  family  papers  and  traditions, 
besides  official  and  published  documents.  Thus  he 
had  made  a  good  beginning  in  the  collection  of 
materials  for  his  great  work  when  hardly  more  than 
out  of  college.  Early  in  his  researches  he  had  in 
view  not  only  the  general  theme  of  the  Old  French 
War,  but  the  special  topic  of  the  Conspiracy  of  Pon- 
tiac.  Although  this  subject  was  the  last  one  in  his 
epoch  of  history,  he  wrote  it  the  first,  —  perhaps  re 
garding  it  as  easier  to  deal  with  than  the  others,  and 
more  certain  of  success  because  of  its  picturesqueness. 

Finding  his   health  in  a  deplorable  state  at  the 


CHRONOLOGICAL  25 

close  of  his  Oregon  Trail  journey,  he  devoted  himself 
largely  to  medical  treatment  during  1847  and  1848. 
He  spent  the  greater  part  of  these  years  in  New 
York  and  at  West  New  Brighton  on  Staten  Island, 
under  the  care  of  an  oculist,  also  at  a  water  cure  in 
Brattleboro,  Vt.,  to  improve  his  general  health.  But 
literary  ambition  was  not  to  be  put  aside  on  account 
of  illness  and  poor  sight.  With  the  help  of  friendly 
eyes  and  hands  he  first  dictated  "  The  Oregon  Trail  " 
in  the  autumn  of  1846,  then  took  up  "  Pontiac."  A 
gentleman 1  who  as  a  boy  knew  Parkman  when  the 
latter  lived  on  Staten  Island,  gives  me  these  recollec 
tions  of  him: 

"With  regard  to  Frank  Parkman,  I  do  remember  him 
very  distinctly  when  he  was  down  here  for  treatment  of 
his  eyes  about  1847. 

"  At  the  same  time  were  gathered  there  for  the  same 
purpose  —  my  father's  ministrations  —  a  goodly  number  of 
disenchanted  dreamers  of  Brook  Farm,  then  in  process  of 
disintegration  —  Mr.  Dana,  Mr.  Ripley,  and  many  others 
less  experimentally  philanthropic  or  more  purely  literary, 
among  whom  were  Longfellow,  Willis,  Morris,  while  for 
a  time  the  Rev.  Charles  Lowell,  his  son  James,  and  his 
daughters  were,  with  Professor  Youmans,  members  of  the 
household. 

"  Frank  Parkman,  or  'Cousin  Frank/  as  he  was  called 
by  the  Shaw  family,  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  boys  ; 
with  whom  he  played  and  to  whom  he  told  wondrous  tales 
of  adventure  by  field  and  flood  —  he  having  recently  re 
turned  from  one  of  his  frontier  expeditions.  Later  his 
i  Dr.  S.  R.  Elliott. 


26  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

stories  began  to  vary  from  the  strictly  historical,  and  to 
take  on  the  guise  of  fictions.  And  at  last  one  evening 
when  we  were  out  rowing  on  the  river  in  front  of  our 
house  '  Cousin  Frank '  told  of  a  frightful  struggle  which 
he  and  his  companions  had  with  sharks,  in  the  Bay  of 
California,  which  lasted  over  two  hours  and  during  which 
he  and  his  two  companions — Mexican  pearl  divers  — 
were  in  90  feet  of  water,  so  that  when  the  party  reached 
the  surface,  they  were  all  nearly  out  of  breath.  We  boys 
looked  at  each  other  silently  for  a  while,  until  Bob  Shaw, 
who  being  a  relation  was  less  shy  of  speech  —  did  ejacu 
late  'g'long' !  so  forcibly  that  the  passage  from  the  credi 
ble  to  the  incredible  was  recognized.  On  another  occasion 
—  also  in  the  boat  —  he  told  us  about  a  row  among  the 
animals  at  an  Eastern  menagerie,  during  which  he  had 
tied  the  trunk  to  the  tail  of  the  biggest  and  most  savage 
elephant,  under  his  belly,  till  he  surrendered  by  holding 
up  his  paw  and  purring.  We  were  never  quite  sure  after 
that  whether  the  tales  of  adventure  so  freely  narrated 
were  meant  to  be  taken  literally  or  not,  as  '  Cousin 
Frank's  '  face  gave  no  outward  or  visible  sign  for  grave  or 
gay.  ...  He  was  an  excellent  talker  among  his  peers, 
the  adults,  and  we  boys  liked  him  even  better  than  James 
Russell  Lowell,  who  had  taken  more  notice  of  our  adoles 
cence,  but  who  somehow  appeared  condescending  and 
Bostony  to  our  untutored  fancy.7' 

He  returned  to  his  father's  house  in  1849,  having 
reaped  but  little  benefit  from  the  efforts  of  the  doc 
tors  —  the  "  medical  faculty,"  as  he  used  to  call  them. 
With  the  help  of  his  friend,  Charles  Eliot  Norton,  in 
reading  proof,  he  was  able  to  prepare  "  The  Oregon 


CHRONOLOGICAL  27 

Trail"  for  publication  in  book  form.  In  1850  he 
married  Catherine  Scollay,  a  daughter  of  Dr.  Jacob 
Bigelow.  His  marriage  was  a  very  happy  one,  yet 
this  epoch  of  his  life  was  not  free  from  severe  strain. 
With  a  small  income  —  up  to  the  death  of  his  father 
in  1852  —  he  found  some  difficulty  in  meeting  the 
expenses  of  a  domestic  establishment  and  those  of 
historical  research.  His  first  home  was  a  cottage, 
still  standing  on  Dorchester  Avenue,  at  Milton  Lower 
Falls ;  afterward  he  occupied  for  a  year  or  two  a 
house  in  Brookline,  on  Cottage  Street,  generally 
spending  the  winter  season  in  Boston  with  his  par 
ents  or  his  father-in-law.  When  at  the  death  of  his 
father  he  came  into  the  possession  of  money,  he 
bought  about  three  acres  of  land  on  the  shore  of 
Jamaica  Pond.  Here  was  the  cottage  which  he  oc 
cupied  for  half  the  year  until  he  rebuilt  it  in  1874  ; 
and  he  continued  to  live  there  through  the  summer 
and  autumn  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  In  1853  "the 
enemy  "  again  became  too  aggressive  to  be  ignored, 
and  again  he  resorted  to  water-cure,  at  Northampton. 
He  was  always  willing  to  give  the  doctors  every 
facility  and  to  undergo  any  method  of  treatment, 
following  faithfully  the  advice  he  sought  —  except 
ing  in  regard  to  giving  up  writing. 

Meanwhile,  with  the  help  of  his  wife  and  her  sis 
ter,  Miss  Mary  Bigelow,  as  amanuensis,  he  pushed 
along  his  literary  labors.  As  soon  as  u  Pontiac  "  was 
off  his  hands  — 1851  —  he  began  collecting  materials 
for  his  historical  series,  and  also  wrote  a  few  reviews 


28  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN" 

of  historical  works  for  the  "  Christian  Examiner."  He 
now  tried  his  hand  at  fiction,  publishing  "  Vassal 
Morton  "  in  1856.  In  this  year  he  made  a  trip  to 
Montreal,  Quebec,  and  Nova  Scotia. 

But  even  this  limited  and  precarious  activity  was 
greatly  hindered  and  finally  arrested ;  for  arthritis  at 
tacked  one  of  his  knees  in  1851,  and  by  depriving  him 
of  his  usual  walks  greatly  impaired  his  general  powers. 
Horseback  riding  relieved  him  to  some  degree,  but 
even  this  was  not  always  possible.  His  family  now 
numbered  three  children:  Grace,  born  in  1851,  Fran 
cis,  born  in  1854,  and  Katharine,  in  1858.  The  first 
great  bereavement  of  his  life  fell  with  the  death  of 
his  promising  son  in  1857.  The  next  year  profound 
grief  again  came  upon  him  in  the  loss  of  his  wife. 
His  sister-in-law,  Miss  Bigelow,  now  took  his  daugh 
ters  to  her  home,  and  relieved  him  of  personal  respon 
sibility  as  to  the  care  and  education  of  them.  This 
arrangement  was  the  more  fortunate  since  the  state 
of  his  brain  made  it  out  of  the  question  for  him  to 
work  in  anything  but  the  utmost  quietness,  or  to 
occupy  himself  with  the  details  of  domestic  economy. 
But  he  enjoyed  having  his  children  with  him  a  por 
tion  of  each  year,  and  made  himself  very  companion 
able  to  them.  As  one  was  of  a  jovial,  and  the  other 
of  a  more  philosophical  turn,  he  used  to  say  that  he 
had  one  daughter  for  his  amusement,  the  other  for 
his  instruction. 

Shortly  after  the  death  of  his  wife  he  went  abroad, 
and  spent  the  winter  of  1858-59  in  Paris,  at  the 


CHRONOLOGICAL  29 

HOtel  de  France  et  de  Bath.  His  brain  was  then  in 
such  a  condition  that  the  most  eminent  specialists  of 
Paris  warned  him  against  insanity  and  forbade  him 
all  literary  labor ;  but  while  spending  his  time  chiefly 
in  observing  the  life  of  the  streets  from  the  tops  of 
omnibuses,  he  yet  managed  to  make  some  investiga 
tions  in  the  archives,  and  to  arrange  for  the  copying 
of  documents.  Returning  to  Boston  without  any 
improvement  in  his  alarming  condition,  he  joined  the 
family  of  his  mother  and  sisters,  living  with  them  in 
winter,  at  No.  8  Walnut  Street  until  1864,  and 
thenceforth  at  No.  50  Chestnut  Street.  They  in 
turn  passed  the  summer  with  him  on  the  shores  of 
Jamaica  Pond. 

Parkman  was  now  approaching  the  worst  epoch  of 
his  life.  The  condition  of  his  brain  made  the  least 
literary  labor  suicidal ;  he  was  called  upon  to  face  the 
certainty  of  permanent  invalidism  and  the  probability 
of  never  reaching  the  goal  of  his  ambition.  The  way 
in  which  he  met  "the  enemy"  was  characteristic  of 
his  courage,  cheerfulness,  and  common  sense.  Out 
of  the  most  depressing  circumstances  he  not  only 
wrung  a  notable  success  in  the  conduct  of  his  life, 
but  contributed  greatly  to  the  happiness  of  others. 
Seeing  the  temple  of  fame  closed  against  him,  he 
turned  to  Nature  for  consolation.  Horticulture  be 
came  his  exclusive  occupation  for  several  years  - 
until  his  health  permitted  him  to  resume  his  pen. 
His  success  in  this  field  is  the  more  noteworthy,  be 
cause  he  had  neither  scientific  training  nor  much 


30  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

money  to  devote  to  the  undertaking.  After  mastering 
the  principles  of  the  science  by  reading,  he  threw  into 
gardening  the  same  ardor  and  painstaking  persever 
ance  that  subsequently  carried  him  to  success  in 
writing  history.  He  was  not  long  in  surpassing  his 
neighbors  who  had  the  advantage  of  him  both  in  ma 
terial  means  and  experience.  It  is  noteworthy  that 
two  other  American  historians,  Bancroft  and  Prescott, 
turned  their  attention  to  gardening  and  became  cele 
brated  as  growers  of  roses. 

Parkman  prepared  his  grounds  for  horticulture 
by  building  a  greenhouse,  making  beds,  and  planting 
trees  and  shrubbery.  He  employed  a  good  gardener 
and  one  or  two  subordinates  to  till  the  soil,  but  di 
rected  everything  himself,  giving  the  closest  attention 
to  practical  details. 

When  able  to  walk,  he  would  go  at  a  rapid  gait 
from  place  to  place,  and  sit  down  on  a  stool  carried 
for  the  purpose  ;  he  would  then  do  some  of  the  lighter 
work,  such  as  sowing  seeds,  planting  borders,  weeding, 
and  cultivating.  He  often  cut  the  grass  of  the  bor 
ders  when  sitting  in  his  wheel  chair,  and  used  a  rake 
or  hoe  in  this  inconvenient  attitude.  Sometimes  the 
sensitiveness  of  his  eyes  prevented  him  from  being 
out-of-doors  in  the  sunlight ;  yet  in  spite  of  all  such 
opposing  conditions,  he  soon  became  so  well  known 
among  his  friends  and  neighbors  as  a  successful 
grower  of  flowers  that  the  Massachusetts  Horticul 
tural  Society  elected  him  a  life  member.  His  repu 
tation  brought  him  an  important  opportunity.  In 


CHRONOLOGICAL  31 

1860  or  1861  Mr.  Francis  L.  Lee,  of  Chestnut  Hill, 
when  enlisting  for  the  war,  turned  over  to  Mr.  Park- 
man,  as  the  most  competent  person,  a  lot  of  plants  and 
bulbs  he  had  received  from  Japan  and  partially 
brought  to  flowering  — among  them  the  lilium  auratum 
and  the  Parkman  Crab.  This  stroke  of  fortune  thus 
placed  in  his  hands  new  and  interesting  materials, 
stimulated  his  ambition  to  further  study,  and  laid  a 
good  part  of  the  foundation  of  his  fame  as  a  horti 
culturist.  In  1862  the  possibilities  of  the  case  in 
duced  him  to  form  a  partnership  with  a  horticulturist, 
with  a  view  of  purchasing  more  land  and  developing 
his  gardening  as  a  business  venture.  This  scheme, 
however,  was  abandoned  at  the  end  of  a  year,  though 
he  thriftily  turned  his  labors  to  some  profit  by  selling 
plants.  Persons  who  bought  of  him,  still  speak  of 
the  fairness  and  generosity  of  his  dealing  and  the 
excellence  of  his  wares. 

Although  Parkman  cultivated  a  variety  of  flowers, 
he  devoted  himself  chiefly  to  the  growing  of  roses 
and  the  hybridization  of  lilies.  It  is  said  that  he  had 
at  one  time  a  thousand  varieties  of  roses  in  his  garden. 
His  most  important  contribution  to  horticulture  was 
the  magnificent  lilium  Parkmanni,  which  he  sold  in 
1876  to  an  English  florist  for  a  large  sum.  He 
brought  out  also  new  varieties  of  delphinium,  phlox, 
poppy,  and  other  flowers.  His  garden,  especially  in 
the  season  of  flowering  shrubs,  delighted  the  eye  by  its 
wealth  of  blossom  and  glow  of  color.  The  flowers 
themselves  rather  than  the  study  of  arrangement  and 


32  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

effect  —  which  did  not  so  much  interest  him  —  made 
its  great  attraction.  The  Bussey  Institute  thought  it 
worth  while  to  publish  a  list  of  these  when  his  prop 
erty  was  taken  by  the  city  of  Boston,  as  part  of 
Jamaica  Park.  His  eminence  in  horticulture  is  well 
attested.  The  reports  of  the  Massachusetts  Horti 
cultural  Society  show  that  he  received,  between  the 
years  1859  and  1884,  no  fewer  than  326*  awards — a 
large  proportion  being  first  prizes  —  besides  one 
bronze  and  sixteen  silver  medals.  In  that  society  he 
served  as  Chairman  of  the  Library  Committee  from 
1863  to  1874;  he  was  Vice-President  from  1871  to 
1874,  and  President  from  1875  to  1878,  when  he  had 
to  decline  re-election.  He  published  a  few  articles  in 
Tilton's  "Journal  of  Horticulture"  in  1867  to  1871. 
In  1866,  at  the  request  of  a  publisher,  he  wrote  "  The 
Book  of  Roses,"  which  still  holds  its  position  as  one  of 
the  best  guides  in  the  cultivation  of  that  flower ;  and  he 
wrote  a  valuable  paper  on  the  hybridization  of  lilies.1 
In  1871  Harvard  appointed  him  Professor  of  Horti 
culture  to  the  Bussey  Institute  —  a  position  he 
resigned  at  the  end  of  a  year.  His  duties  there  were 
agreeable  and  not  onerous:  no  preparation  being 
needed  to  go  twice  a  week  to  the  greenhouses  and  talk 
to  a  class  of  young  women  about  the  cultivation  of  flow 
ers.  He  gave  up  special  efforts  in  horticulture  about 
1884,  when  his  lameness  increased,  and  thereafter 
simply  maintained  his  garden  for  the  pleasure  of  it. 
He  was  generous  with  his  flowers,  glad  to  fill  the  hands 

1  Bulletin  of  the  Bussey  Institute,  No.  15. 


CHRONOLOGICAL  33 

of  any  passer  who  showed  an  interest  in  them.  He  was 
very  considerate  of  the  feelings  of  his  employees,  and 
patient  with  them ;  the  humor  of  a  blunder  generally 
outweighed  the  annoyance  of  a  mistake,  but  when 
really  vexed  he  walked  away  in  silence. 

Horticulture  thus  gave  him  his  most  intimate  con 
tact  with  nature  ;  it  was  indeed  the  only  means  by 
which  his  love  came  in  from  the  wilderness  to  a 
homely  and  affectionate  regard  for  individual  objects. 
Parkman's  general  feeling  towards  gardening  and  the 
benefits  he  himself  derived  from  it  are  well  expressed 
in  the  following  extract  from  his  presidential  address 
of  1875 : 

"You  have  placed  me  at  the  head  of  a  society  whose 
sole  aim  is  the  promotion  of  that  gracious  art  which, 
through  all  time,  has  been  the  companion  and  the  symbol 
of  peace:  an  art  joined  in  closest  ties  with  Nature,  and 
her  helper  in  the  daily  miracle  by  which  she  works  beauty 
out  of  foulness  and  life  out  of  corruption ;  an  art  so  tran 
quillizing  and  so  benign;  so  rich  in  consolations  and 
pleasures ;  and  one,  too,  which  appeals  to  all  mankind  and 
finds  votaries  among  rich  and  poor,  learned  and  simple 
alike.  Let  us  be  grateful  to  the  three  deities  who  preside 
over  these  halls,  and  let  us  not  fail  to  yield  them  a  fitting 
homage.  Horticulture,  which  in  their  serene  and  graceful 
trinity  they  combine  to  represent,  is  not  one  of  the  me 
chanic  arts.  It  is  an  art  based  on  a  science,  or  on  several 
sciences.  When  pursued  in  its  highest  sense  and  to  its 
best  results,  it  demands  the  exercise  of  a  great  variety  of 
faculties,  and  gives  scope  to  a  high  degree  of  mental 
activity.  On  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  horticulture, 

3 


34  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

as  a  profession,  stands  to-day  in  a  position  of  eminence. 
It  has  proved  an  avenue  to  social  consideration  and  public 
honor.  Ability,  energy,  and  self-knowledge  can  lead  men 
to  distinction  by  the  pathways  of  the  garden  as  well  as  by 
the  dusty  road  of  what  are  rather  invidiously  called  the 
learned  professions  .  .  .  Horticulture,  broadly  pursued, 
is  an  education  in  itself,  and  no  pursuit  can  surpass  it  in 
training  the  powers  of  observation  and  induction.  The 
mind  of  the  true  cultivator  is  always  on  the  alert  to  detect 
the  working  of  principles  and  carry  them  to  their  practical 
application.  To  read  the  secrets  of  nature  and  aid  her  in 
her  beneficent  functions  is  his  grateful  and  ennobling 
task." 

But  we  must  return  to  the  historian.  His  restric 
tions  now  prevented  him  from  doing  much  serious 
historical  labor  for  fourteen  years  —  from  the  publi 
cation  of  "  Pontiac  "  in  1851  to  the  appearance  of 
Part  I.  of  his  series,  "The  Pioneers,"  in  1865.  Dur 
ing  this  trying  epoch  he  was  now  and  then  able  to 
gather  and  arrange  some  of  his  material;  and  he 
produced  several  works  of  minor  importance  —  a  few 
book  reviews,  the  novel  "  Vassall  Morton  "  in  1856, 
and  "The  Book  of  Roses"  in  1866.  At  the  close  of 
the  war  he  visited  Washington  and  Richmond,  that 
he  might  at  least  see  the  battlefields  where  he  would 
have  fought  with  so  much  zeal.  The  Boston  Athe 
naeum  voted  him  $500  to  buy  rebel  documents  and 
publications  ;  and  he  brought  back  some  valuable 
papers  to  tbat  institution.  In  1866  he  made  a  journey 
to  Montreal,  Two  Mountains,  the  Long  Sault,  the 


CHRONOLOGICAL  35 

Chaudiere  ;  and  then  to  Quebec  to  study  in  detail 
the  scenes  connected  with  Wolfe's  attack.  Feeling 
the  need  of  once  more  seeing  the  Indians  in  their 
native  state,  he  made  a  journey  to  Fort  Snelling  in 
1867,  visiting  on  the  way  Keokuk,  Peoria  and  the 
Illinois  River,  Prairie  du  Chien,  and  St.  Louis,  and  at 
the  latter  place  hunting  up  his  old  guide  and  friend, 
Henry  Chatillon,  with  whom  he  had  continued  to  cor 
respond  since  the  Oregon  Trail  trip.  The  Ottawa 
and  Lake  Nipissing  were  the  only  important  historical 
locality  that  he  did  not  see.  1868  was  a  year  of 
exceptional  suffering,  rendering  all  work  impossible, 
although  he  accepted  election  as  Overseer  of  Harvard 
College.  Finding  that  complete  idleness  now  seemed 
necessary,  and  preferring  Paris  to  any  other  place  for 
such  a  life,  he  went  abroad  for  the  winter,  establishing 
himself  in  lodgings  at  No.  21  Boulevard  Saint  Michel. 
Here  he  was  vainly  sought  after  by  some  of  the 
writers  of  Paris  and  the  elite  of  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain.  In  the  course  of  the  winter  his  health  im 
proved  sufficiently  to  enable  him  to  enjoy  sight-seeing 
and  even-make  some  researches,  so  that  at  his  return 
in  the  spring  of  1869  he  resumed  his  labors  and  saw 
"  La  Salle  "  through  the  press. 

This  year  Park  man  resigned  his  position  as  Over 
seer  of  Harvard,  and  accepted  an  appointment  as 
Professor  of  Horticulture.  In  1872  he  went  again 
to  Europe  for  historical  materials.  Desiring  some 
personal  knowledge  of  the  French  Canadian  people, 
he  spent  some  weeks  of  1873  in  visiting  several 


36  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

families  living  on  their  seigniories  along  the  shores 
of  the  St.  Lawrence  below  Quebec.  It  is  unfortu 
nate  that  we  have  nothing  characteristic  to  tell  of 
his  frequent  visits  to  Canada.  He  made  many 
pleasant  acquaintances  at  Montreal  and  Quebec, 
among  both  the  English  and  the  French  writers, 
lay  and  clerical.  1874  is  marked  by  the  appear 
ance  of  the  "  Old  Regime."  In  1875  he  was  chosen 
one  of  the  Fellows  of  the  Corporation  of  Harvard. 
"  Frontenac  "  was  published  in  1877.  Again  he  ex 
plored  the  region  between  Lake  George  and  Quebec, 
studying  minutely  the  battlefields  along  the  route. 
The  state  of  his  health  prevented  him  from  accepting 
the  Presidency  of  the  Archaeological  Institute  in 
1878,  but  the  following  year  finds  him  once  more*  in 
Quebec  and  Louisburg.  In  1880  he  helped  to  or 
ganize  the  St.  Botolph  Club  —  an  association  of  the 
literary  men  and  artists  of  Boston.  The  club  chose 
him  for  the  first  President,  and  re-elected  him  for 
six  successive  years,  as  long  as  his  strength  allowed 
him  to  serve.  His  occasional  utterances  on  public 
questions,  showing  how  deep  an  interest  he  took 
in  our  national  growth,  led  a  Civil  Service  Reform 
Association  to  invite  him  in  1881  to  be  one  of  its 
Vice-Presidents.  "  Montcalm  and  Wolfe  "  appeared 
in  1884.  In  1885  he  made  a  journey  to  Florida  to 
examine  the  places  of  historical  interest  in  that 
region ;  stopping  on  the  way  at  Beaufort,  South 
Carolina;  then  going  on  to  Fernandina,  Jackson 
ville,  Fort  George,  Palatka,  Ocklawaha  river,  Ocala 


CHRONOLOGICAL  37 

and  St.  Augustine.  In  1886  he  camped  with  me  a 
month  on  the  Batiscan  River  —  the  first  time  this 
lover  of  wild  life  had  been  to  the  woods  in  forty 
years.  A  delightful  companion  he  was,  interested 
in  all  the  labors  and  pleasures  of  camp  life,  cheer 
ful  and  patient  under  all  circumstances.  Despite 
his  lame  knee,  he  insisted  on  helping  me  complete 
the  roof,  the  fireplace,  and  the  tables  we  needed, 
and  in  doing  what  he  could  of  camp  work.  In 
washing  the  dishes  he  always  used  water  far  too 
hot  for  his  hands,  saying  "  It 's  so  much  more  effec 
tive" —  a  characteristic  word  of  his.  When  I  had 
chopped  down  some  trees  and  cleared  a  little  piece 
of  land  for  a  garden  on  the  river  bank,  he  gave  the 
finishing  touches  to  the  soil  and  sowed  the  seeds. 
He  had  bought  for  the  trip  a  Winchester  rifle  and 
a  .bamboo  fly-rod.  The  mere  possession  of  the  rifle 
was  the  chief  pleasure  he  anticipated  from  it,  since 
he  could  not  walk  enough  to  do  more  than  fire  a 
few  rounds  in  a  camp  at  a  target.  He  was  a  fair 
shot,  even  at  that  age  and  after  so  long  disuse  of 
firearms.  Although  a  good  bait  fisherman,  he  now 
took  his  first  lessons  in  casting  the  fly,  and  always 
thereafter  showed  much  appreciation  and  respect  for 
the  fine  art  of  angling.  One  day  we  went  up  the 
river  in  canoes  to  a  large  pool  at  the  foot  of  a  rapid 
where  the  currents  were  strong  and  the  waters  rather 
tumultuous.  When  I  had  worked  up  the  pool  and 
dropped  anchor  close  to  the  cascade  I  beckoned  him 
to  follow.  Being  unused  to  canoeing  and  to  rough 


38  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

waters,  he  evidently  thought  the  attempt  somewhat 
dangerous;  but  after  casting  a  penetrating  glance 
at  my  face,  he  came  up  into  line  with  a  certain 
martial  obedience.  He  often  talked  of  the  French- 
Canadians,  viewing  them  as  the  result  of  forces 
manifest  in  their  history  and  their  religion.  He. 
now  and  then  spoke  of  the  noted  literary  people  of 
Boston,  setting  forth  with  great  certainty  of  touch 
and  sharpness  of  outline  their  salient  traits;  his 
criticism,  while  kindly  and  impartial,  was  always 
keen  and  firm.  The  most  interesting  manifestation 
of  his  personality  was  his  mute  approaches  to  nature 
after  so  many  years  of  separation.  He  would  look 
up  at  a  bold  bluff  that  arose  several  hundred  feet 
above  the  river,  as  if  fain  to  scale  once  more  such 
lofty  cliffs.  Often  he  would  get  into  the  canoe  and 
float  down  the  river  for  a  glimpse  of  our  neighbors, 
a  family  of  beaver.  I  recall  most  vividly  his  expect 
ant  look  off  into  the  depths  of  the  forest  as  I  once 
took  my  rod  and  paddled  away  to  give  him  a  day 
of  solitude.  His  sojourn  at  camp  was  so  agreeable 
and  beneficial  that  he  wished  to  remain  longer,  but 
his  fidelity  to  Harvard  did  not  allow  him  to  be  absent 
from  Commencement.  On  leaving  for  Boston  he 
took  with  him  a  box  full  of  ferns  for  his  garden. 
As  circumstances  prevented  him  from  carrying  out 
his  intention  of  returning  to  camp,  he  went  in  July 
to  the  Rangeley  Lakes,  and  built  a  log  cabin  at  the 
Bemis  Camp,  hoping  that  he  and  his  sister  might 
sometimes  go  thither;  but  his  infirmities  never  al- 


CHRONOLOGICAL  39 

lowed  him  to  make  the  journey  a  second  time.  He 
went  with  his  sister  to  Europe  in  the  summer  of 
1880  and  again  in  1881  —  his  purpose  being  both 
to  see  his  daughter  who  was  then  living  in  Paris 
and  to  get  historical  material.  His  last  journey  to 
Europe  was  made  in  1887,  in  the  hope  of  getting 
benefit  from  some  of  the  German  spas.  He  went 
with  his  friend,  Dr.  Algernon  Coolidge,  by  steamer 
to  Santander,  and  thence  to  Madrid.  He  had  barely 
reached  the  latter  place  and  attended  a  bull  fight, 
when  a  fresh  attach  of  insomnia  and  lameness  in 
duced  him  to  return  home  by  way  of  Paris,  after  an 
absence  of  only  a  few  weeks.  His  maladies  com 
pelled  him  in  1888  to  resign  his  office  of  Fellow  of 
the  Corporation  of  Harvard,  after  a  service  of  thir 
teen  years.  He  was  now  spending  a  good  part  of 
every  summer  with  his  daughter  and  son-in-law, 
Mr.  J.  T.  Coolidge,  Jr.,  at  their  summer  residence, 
the  old  Wentworth  mansion  at  Little  Harbor,  Ports 
mouth,  N.  H.  It  was  there  that  he  wrote  a  part  of 
"Montcalm  and  Wolfe,"  and  finished  "A  Half  Cen 
tury  of  Conflict,"  published  in  1892. 

The  close  of  Parkman's  life  was  both  happy  and 
characteristic; — his  work  done,  his  reputation  still  in 
the  ascendant,  his  friends  increasing  in  number  and 
appreciation.  He  had  always  hoped  to  die  before 
reaching  the  lingering  weakness  and  decrepitude  of 
old  age,  for  such  a  soul  could  not  but  dread  any 
thing  that  even  pointed  towards  a  diminution  of 
power.  When  a  friend  once  spoke  with  pride  of 


40  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  work  he  had  done,  his  energy  flamed  out  with 
the  promise  to  do  still  more  if  he  should  live.  His 
last  summer  was  a  very  happy  one ;  comparative 
freedom  from  pain  and  the  absence  of  anxiety  as  to 
the  completion  of  his  work  brought  both  comfort 
and  peace.  He  spent  the  season  where  he  most 
enjoyed  it,  at  the  Wentworth  mansion  and  in  the 
midst  of  his  children  and  grandchildren.  In  the 
autumn  he  returned  to  his  home  at  the  Pond,  to 
amuse  himself  with  the  late  flowers  or  with  his 
boat  on  the  lake.  On  coming  in,  from  his  last  row, 
on  a  Sundajr,  he  felt  ill  and  took  to  his  bed.  Peri 
tonitis  set  in,  but  he  rallied  so  much  by  Tuesday 
evening  that  a  successful  surgical  operation  was 
thought  possible.  This  hope  had  to  be  dismissed 
when  he  began  to  sink  on  Wednesday  morning. 
He  died  peacefully  about  noon  of  that  day,  on  the 
8th  of  November,  1893,  and  was  buried  in  the  Mount 
Auburn  Cemetery.  The  last  book  he  read  was 
"  Childe  Harold,"  and  his  last  words  were  to  tell 
that  he  had  just  dreamed  of  killing  a  bear.  Though 
suffering  extremely,  he  yet  maintained  to  his  last 
hour  an  impressive  degree  of  dignity,  firmness,  gen 
tleness,  and  serenity. 

The  honors  that  Parkman  reaped  were  numerous. 
Laval  University  discussed  conferring  on  him  the 
degree  of  Doctor  of  Letters  in  1878,  though  sec 
tarian  opposition  defeated  the  project.  McGill 
made  him  an  LL.D.  the  following  year,  Williams 
in  1885,  and  Harvard  in  1889.  His  official  con- 


CHRONOLOGICAL  41 

nections  with  Harvard  will  be  explained  later. 
He  was  a  member  of  the  following  societies :  Cor 
responding  Member  of  the  Royal  Society  of  Canada, 
1884;  Honorary  Member  of  the  London  Society  of 
Antiquarians,  1878  ;  Member  of  the  Royal  Histori 
cal  Society  of  London,  1876, — resigned;  Member 
of  a  score  or  more  of  American  and  provincial  his 
torical  societies;  Member  of  the  Massachusetts  His 
torical  Society;  Fellow  of  the  American  Academy 
of  Arts  and  Sciences ;  Honorary  Member  of  the 
Literary  and  Historical  Society  of  Quebec ;  Member 
of  the  American  Antiquarian  Society,  of  the  Archae 
ological  Institute  of  America,  of  the  New  England 
Historic  Genealogical  Society,  of  the  Bostonian  So 
ciety,  of  the  American  Folk-Lore  Society,  of  the 
Massachusetts  Horticultural  Society,  of  the  St. 
Botolph  Club,  and  of  the  Colonial  Society  of 
Massachusetts. 

The  more  intimate  honor  of  personal  esteem  was 
abundantly  shown  him  on  the  occasion  of  his  seven 
tieth  birthday;  and  still  more  widely  and  publicly 
at  the  time  of  his  death.  By  the  initiative  of  his 
friend,  Professor  Sargent,  a  generous  fund  was  sub 
scribed  at  once  for  erecting  a  memorial  that  is  to  mark 
the  site  of  his  house  and  garden  at  Jamaica  Pond. 


$art  I 

PREPARATION 


CHAPTER   III 

PARKMAN  unconsciously  began  his  preparation  for 
historical  writing  in  boyhood.  From  an  early  day 
he  so  directed  his  efforts  as  to  secure  in  the  happiest 
proportions  the  study  of  nature,  books,  man, ,  life, 
and  history;  and  we  shall  see  that  he  also  met  with 
a  very  exceptional  spiritual  discipline,  the  result  of 
an  iron  will  and  immense  energy  encountering  great 
difficulties  and  sufferings. 

He  commenced  his  study  of  nature  on  Boston 
Common,  by  sounding  the  mysteries  of  Frog  Pond 
with  a  pin  hook,  where  he  and  his  cousin  caught 
horned  pouts  which  they  seasoned  with  ground  cinna 
mon  and  broiled  over  a  fire  in  his  father's  garden. 
But  soon  he  passed  on  to  larger  fields.  When  eight 
years  of  age,  having  a  delicate  and  sensitive  physique, 
he  was  turned  loose  on  the  farm  of  his  maternal 
grandfather,  Nathaniel  Hall,  at  Medford,  Mass. 
There  the  boy  enjoyed  four  years  of  wholesome  free 
dom  in  fields  and  woods.  He  says  of  this  time :  "  I 
walked  twice  a  day  to  a  school  of  high  but  undeserved 


PREPARATION  43 

reputation,  about  a  mile  distant  in  the  town  of  Med- 
ford.  Here  I  learned  very  little,  and  spent  the  inter 
vals  of  schooling  more  profitably  in  collecting  eggs, 
insects,  and  reptiles,  trapping  squirrels  and  wood- 
chucks,  and  making  persistent  though  rarely  fortu 
nate  attempts  to  kill  birds  with  arrows."1  The 
woods,  indeed,  were  so  seductive  as  to  be  responsible 
for  considerable  truancy  on  his  part,  and  some  conse 
quent  fibbing.  Those  years  at  Medford  were  counted 
among  his  happiest,  for  the  manifold  interests  and 
activities  of  country  life  were  very  congenial  to  his 
tastes ;  but  the  woods  of  the  Middlesex  Fells,  at  that 
time  quite  wild,  were  especially  fitted  to  develop  one 
of  the  boy's  strongest  passions,  —  the  love  of  nature. 
There  were  hills  that  seemed  mountains  to  his  youth 
ful  mind  and  legs;  cliffs  of  rock  and  uncertain 
marshes  to  arouse  his  spirit  of  adventure;  wild 
animals  to  trail,  shoot,  or  trap;  ravines  where  the 
Indian  warrior  may  have  lain  in  wait  for  his  victims ; 
streams  that  caught  up  the  fancy  and  whirled  it 
along  on  bubbles  to  the  rapids ;  ponds  where  the  birch 
canoe  could  glide  away  through  sunset  clouds;  and 
above  all  a  forest  having  something  of  the  silence, 
solitude,  and  mystery  of  primeval  nature.  The 
region  thus  reduced  to  a  boy's  grasp  the  boundless 
American  wilderness  and  made  him  familiar  with 
many  elements  of  his  future  histories. 

1  He  refers  to  the  boarding-school  for  boys  and  girls,  kept  by 
Mr.  John  Angier;  the  Rev.  O.  B.  Frothingham,  a  fellow  student, 
speaks  well  of  it,  and  Mr.  Wheelwright  says  that  many  people  of 
note  received  their  early  training  in  it. 


44  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

But  Parkman's  mental  energy  led  him,  even  at  this 
early  age,  to  probe  still  deeper  into  the  natural  sci 
ences.  He  began,  at  Medford,  a  collection  of  minerals 
for  which  his  father  gave  him  a  cabinet  that  he  kept 
all  his  life,  and  in  which  he  placed  the  rarer  specimens 
met  with  in  subsequent  journeys.  This  study  re 
mained  an  active  pursuit  with  him  through  his  college 
days,  resulting  in  a  collection  sufficiently  important 
to  be  presented  in  1847  to  the  Harvard  Natural 
History  Society.  In  fact,  he  seems  never  to  have 
lost  this  interest,  for  a  young  friend  who  in  his  later 
days  frequently  rowed  with  him  about  Portsmouth 
says  that  his  talk  of  the  rocks  there  was  entertaining 
even  to  a  young  man  fresh  from  the  geological  course 
of  Harvard. 

Zoology  was  naturally  attractive  to  the  young 
sportsman;  and,  though  in  after  years  his  observa 
tions  were  limited  to  civilized  regions  and  domestic 
animals,  it  always  remained  a  pleasant  pastime.  The 
only  anecdotes  remembered  of  his  early  youth  relate 
to  this  subject.  His  omnivorous  pockets  scorned 
nothing  they  could  hold,  dead  or  alive.  Once  a 
snake  that  had  revived  in  the  warmth  of  the  school 
room  stuck  his  head  out  of  Frank's  coat  pocket,  to 
the  consternation  of  a  little  girl  sitting  near.  Before 
throwing  it  out  of  the  door,  as  commanded  by  the 
master,  he  made  sure  of  the  specimen  by  giving  its 
neck  a  fatal  wring.  On  another  occasion  his  love  of 
natural  history  seems  to  have  been  mingled  with  a 
good  degree  of  humor.  His  father  used  to  drive  out 


PREPARATION  45 

to  Medford  and  bring  him  home  every  Saturday  to 
spend  Sunday.  These  weekly  returns  to  town  were 
not  at  all  to  the  boy's  taste,  and  were  said  to  be  the 
only  occasions  on  which  he  ever  descended  to  any 
pretence ;  he  used  to  stare  blankly  at  familiar  town 
sights,  wishing  to  pass  for  a  green  country  lad.  It 
is  easy  to  believe  that  he  preferred  roaming  the  woods 
rather  than  going  to  church.  One  Sabbath  morning 
he  chanced  on  a  compensation.  While  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Parkman  in  his  black  silk  gown  with  his  wife  on  his 
arm  was  walking  down  Hanover  street  in  all  the 
dignity  that  became  his  cloth,  the  boy  following 
behind  them,  Mrs.  Parkman  observed  a  queer  smile 
on  the  faces  of  those  they  passed.  Turning  to  find 
the  cause,  she  beheld  Frank  carrying  by  the  tail,  at 
arm's  length,  a  dead  rat.  His  explanation  that  he 
wished  to  take  it  home  to  stuff  did  not  avail ;  he  was 
obliged  to  relinquish  the  rat  and  resume  his  walk 
with  more  decorum. 

Parkman's  fondness  for  animals  by  no  means  ceased 
when  the  graver  duties  of  life  replaced  the  plays  of 
boyhood.  In  later  years,  "when  visiting  a  friend 
residing  in  the  country,  the  thing  he  found  most  to 
admire  in  the  house,  that  which  interested  him  most, 
was  a  rug  made  of  the  skins  of  three  raccoons  that 
had  been  trapped  on  the  premises.  He  seemed 
never  to  tire  of  contemplating  the  tails  of  the  wild 
creatures  as  they  lay  side  by  side  on  the  floor,  recon 
structing  in  his  mind,  no  doubt,  their  agile  former 
owners,  and  following  them  in  imagination  to  their 


46  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

secret  haunts  among  the  rocks  and  trees,  or  accom 
panying  them  on  predatory  excursions  to  neighboring 
hen-yards."1  Cats  in  particular  were  a  favorite 
source  of  amusement.  His  friends  so  often  sent  him 
Christinas  cards  representing  feline  subjects,  that 
he  once  counted  in  his  study  forty-two  pictures  of 
pussy.  He  particularly  delighted  in  a  life-sized  cloth 
cat  which  he  used  to  place  by  the  side  of  the  fire 
place;  and  on  returning  from  the  Rocky  Mountains 
in  1846  he  brought  in  a  box  made  of  buffalo  hide  a 
horned  frog,  which  after  its  death  he  gave  to  the 
Agassiz  Museum.  Still,  oddly  enough,  Parkman's 
relations  to  animals  were  not  exactly  affectionate. 
Though  he  liked  to  have  them  about  him,  and  found 
endless  entertainment  in  watching  them,  he  did  not 
wish  to  be  bothered  with  the  care  of  them,  and  never 
had  any  real  pets.  Rifle  shooting  was  one  of  the 
passions  of  his  youth,  as  is  seen  by  his  eager  and 
reckless  buffalo  hunting  on  the  Oregon  Trail.  In 
spite  of  a  rule  of  the  college  forbidding  students 
to  have  firearms  in  their  rooms,  Parkman's  quar 
ters  were  those  of  a  sportsman  rather  than  a  student. 
But  he  was  not  sportsman  enough  in  his  maturity  to 
make  journeys  for  the  mere  purpose  of  shooting;  or, 
perhaps,  the  infirmities  that  often  made  such  an 
undertaking  impossible,  finally  obliterated  this  taste. 
On  the  other  hand,  fishing  remained,  to  the  last,  one 
of  his  favorite  recreations.  Circumstances  favored 
this  quieter  kind  of  sport;  and  it  gave  him  great 

1  Wheelwright. 


PREPARATION  47 

satisfaction  to  catch  a  good  string  of  fish  for  the 
table  —  as  though  his  sympathy  with  savage  life 
were  gratified  by  winning  his  food  directly  from  the 
surrounding  waters.  He  also  brought  himself  early 
into  close  contact  with  nature  through  the  study  of 
botany,  and  while  yet  a  boy  found  one  more  outlet 
for  his  energy  in  the  growth  of  silkworms. 

Parkman's  study  of  science  separated  him  for  a  time 
from  his  natural  haunts  of  fields  and  woods.  In  his 
autobiographic  paper,  in  which  he  speaks  of  himself 
always  in  the  third  person,  he  says  that  "  at  the  age 
of  eleven  or  twelve  he  conceived  a  vehement  liking 
for  pursuits,  a  devotion  to  which  at  that  time  of  life 
far  oftener  indicates  a  bodily  defect  than  a  mental 
superiority.  Chemical  experiment  was  his  favorite 
hobby,  and  he  pursued  it  with  a  tenacious  eagerness 
which,  well  directed,  would  have  led  to  some  ac 
quaintance  with  the  rudiments  of  the  science,  but 
which,  in  fact,  served  little  other  purpose  than  injur 
ing  him  by  confinement,  poisoning  him  with  noxious 
gases,  and  occasionally  scorching  him  with  some  ill- 
starred  explosion."  This  turning  from  the  outdoor 
world  to  the  mystery  of  science  took  place  when  he 
left  Medford  and  came  to  live  again  in  Boston  under 
the  paternal  roof.  His  father  had  a  laboratory  fitted 
up  for  him  in  a  shed  at  the  rear  of  the  house.  His 
comrades  say  that  he  became  a  fair  manipulator,  and 
showed  considerable  mechanical  skill  in  constructing 
his  apparatus.  Among  other  things  he  made  a  well- 
finished  electrical  machine  of  wood,  brass,  and  glass, 


48  A   LIFE   OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

with  which  he  liked  to  administer  shocks  to  rows  of 
girls  holding  each  other  by  the  hand.  He  even  gave 
lectures  on  chemistry  and  electricity.  The  following 
announcement  may  furnish  a  taste  of  his  quality  at 
this  epoch: 

"  Grand  Exhibition  !  Mr.  F.  Parkman,  grateful  for 
receiving,  and  always  desirous  of  returning  the  favors  of 
his  friends  and  of  the  public  in  general,  begs  leave  to 
announce,  most  respectfully,  that  at  the  request  of  a  large 
proportion  of  the  citizens  of  this  '  great  metropolis '  he 
has  consented  (at  a  great  expense  and  labor)  to  exhibit  his 
truly  astonishing,  not  to  say  wonderful  and  amazing  ex 
hibition  of  Phisyoramic  Pyrotecnicon  !  or  Pyrric  Fires  I 
Mr.  Parkman  having  studied  many  years  under  Maelzel, 
the  original  inventor,  can  assure  the  public  that  they  are 
fully  equal  to  his.  The  performances  will  comprise,  The 
pyramids  and  globes,  the  full  sun  (this  piece  cost  $200), 
magic  wheel,  Transparency  of  Lord  Nelson,  etc.  The  whole 
to  conclude  with  his  powerful  magic  lantern,  containing 
eighteen  glasses  comprising  elegant  and  beautiful  forms." 

Naturally  the  youthful  instructor  drew  an  audience 
composed  chiefly  of  his  youthful  friends  and  rela 
tions,  but  he  attracted  also  some  who  were  no  longer 
young,  and  people  of  good  memory  testify  to  the 
entertaining  quality  of  the  boy's  demonstrations. 

The  strength  of  Parkman's  early  interest  in  science 
is  shown  by  his  own  words  in  the  following  school 
composition,  written  in  August,  1839.  The  paper, 
moreover,  has  an  interest  as  evidence  that  the  boy 
was  studying  the  English  language  to  good  purpose; 


PREPARATION  49 

and  it  is  the  earliest  bit  of  his  composition  that  has 
been  preserved: 

"  Studies  of  Nature.  Of  all  pursuits  the  cultivation  of 
natural  science  tends  most  to  enlarge  the  mind  and  im 
prove  the  understanding.  Nature  affords  for  our  con 
templation  subjects  from  the  minutest  to  the  most  grand. 
We  may  study  the  animalcule  contained  in  a  drop  of 
water,  or  observe  the  motions  of  the  planetary  bodies  as 
they  revolve  in  their  unchanged  orbits.  No  class  of  pur 
suits  affords  so  vast  a  variety  of  subjects  and  none  is 
capable  of  awakening  a  deeper  interest.  Nature  cannot 
be  exhausted.  The  farther  we  investigate  her  secrets  the 
wider  appears  the  range  she  opens  to  us.  The  nearer  the 
view  we  take  of  her,  the  more  captivating  does  she  appear. 

"  We  all  are  born  with  an  instinctive  fondness  for  the 
beauties  of  nature.  We  all  take  pleasure  in  viewing  a 
lofty  mountain,  a  fertile  valley,  or  a  clear  stream.  But 
most  of  us  look  upon  such  objects  as  we  would  upon  a 
beautiful  picture,  we  imagine  no  pleasure  to  be  derived 
from  them  farther  than  that  which  arises  from  the  clear 
ness  of  the  stream  or  the  picturesque  contrast  of  mountain 
and  valley. 

"  But  suppose  a  man  who  has  made  nature  his  study, 
who,  while  searching  into  the  great  laws  that  govern  her, 
has  not  neglected  the  tribes  of  living  and  inanimate  be 
ings  to  which  she  is  indebted  for  life  and  beauty,  —  sup 
pose  him  to  be  placed  where  we  were,  and  to  be  looking 
upon  the  same  objects.  The  black  and  precipitous  rocks 
which  lie  piled  in  confusion  above  him,  remind  him  of 
the  period  when  that  mountain  emerged  from  the  plain 
impelled  by  some  irresistible  subterranean  power.  He 

4 


50  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

notices  the  deposits  which  through  successive  ages  have 
accumulated  about  its  base,  and  compares  the  present 
appearance  of  that  valley,  enlivened  by  grazing  herds  and 
sparkling  rivulets,  with  its  aspect  in  former  ages,  when 
it  perhaps  formed  the  bed  of  a  stagnant  lake,  the  abode 
of  monsters,  now  happily  extinct.  The  plants  and  ani 
mals  about  him  next  engage  his  attention,  and  in  observ 
ing  their  appearances  and  watching  their  motions,  he 
finds  an  inexhaustible  source  of  innocent  gratification. 

"'  But/  say  some,  '  of  what  use  are  such  pursuits,  or 
what  man  of  sense  can  take  pleasure  in  studying  the 
habits  of  a  paltry  insect,  or  in  classing  and  arranging  an 
insignificant  shell  ?'  I  answer  that  whatever  tends  to 
increase  our  knowledge  of  the  globe  we  inhabit  is  of  use, 
and  that  objects  which  appear  too  trifling  to  be  noticed 
may,  at  some  future  day,  be  found  of  great  benefit  to 
mankind. 

<l  When  the  great  chemical  discoveries  of  Davy  were 
published,  it  was  said  by  some,  'Such  discoveries  are 
curious  and  wonderful,  but  to  what  possible  use  can  they 
be  applied  ? '  Of  what  use  is  the  spring  of  a  watch  ?  It 
is  the  agent  by  which  the  motion  of  the  other  parts  is 
produced,  and  unless  it  had  first  been  invented,  a  watch 
could  never  have  been  made.  The  principle  of  the  spring 
was  known  long  before  any  one  thought  of  applying  it  to 
the  construction  of  time-pieces.  It  is  the  same  with  such 
discoveries.  They  point  out  the  principles  which  sooner 
or  later  will  be  made  the  agent  in  some  great  improve 
ment  in  art.  The  application  of  the  principle  may  not 
immediately  be  discovered,  but  we  should  not  on  this 
account  condemn  it  as  useless. 

"Why  then  should  the  naturalist  be  accused  of  spend- 


PREPARATION  51 

ing  his  time  in  useless  pursuits?  Use,  of  which  we  have 
no  idea  may  yet  be  made  of  his  researches,  and  in  the 
meantime  there  is  no  pursuit  more  innocent,  more  inter 
esting,  or  more  agreeable  than  the  study  of  Natural 
History." 

But  Parkman  needed  a  broader  knowledge  of 
nature  than  was  to  be  had  in  the  details  of  natural 
science,  and  before  long  be  directed  bis  steps  to 
wider  and  more  genial  fields.  He  said  in  his  auto 
biographical  letter: 

"The  age  of  fifteen  or  sixteen  produced  a  revolution. 
At  that  momentous  period  of  life  retorts  and  crucibles 
were  forever  discarded,  and  an  activity  somewhat  exces 
sive  took  the  place  of  voluntary  confinement.  A  new 
passion  seized  him,  which,  but  half  gratified,  still  holds 
its  force.  He  became  enamoured  of  the  woods,  a  fancy 
which  soon  gained  full  control  over  the  course  of  the 
literary  pursuits  to  which  he  was  also  addicted." 

His  return  to  nature  was  at  first  directed  chiefly 
by  a  boy's  love  of  activity  in  the  open  air.  He  en 
joyed  long  walks  with  a  companion  about  the  suburbs 
of  Boston.  But  soon,  at  the  age  of  seventeen  or 
eighteen,  the  purpose  of  writing  the  history  of  the 
French  and  Indian  War  became  the  controlling  power 
of  his  life,  and  lie  at  once  began  a  remarkable  con 
centration  of  all  his  powers  and  activities  on  this  one 
aim.  With  a  breadth  of  view  unusual  in  so  young 
a  mind,  he  saw  that  for  this  theme  would  be  needed 
a  much  wider  range  of  experience  and  knowledge 


52  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

than  the  study  could  give ;  and  he  wisely  estimated 
a  knowledge  of  the  wilderness  and  its  life  as  among 
the  most  important  elements  of  his  preparation.  His 
chivalric  nature,  too,  was  easily  fired  with  an  ambi 
tion  to  emulate  Cooper's  dusky  heroes,  who  were 
then  popular  personages  with  many  other  readers 
besides  himself;  and  on  his  tramps  in  the  woods,  he 
was  continually  living  and  acting  their  characters. 
Finally,  one  of  his  strongest  characteristics,  a  love  of 
stir  and  movement,  also  pushed  him  to  the  excessive 
activity  of  which  he  speaks  in  the  above -quoted  pas 
sage  from  his  autobiography. 

He  now  began,  on  entering  Harvard,  a  course  of 
physical  training  by  which  he  hoped  to  acquire  the 
utmost  strength,  agility,  and  endurance;  further 
more,  he  made  his  contact  with  nature  serve  his 
literary  projects.  He  took  long  walks  at  a  pace  his 
companions  found  it  hard  to  keep  up;  he  practised 
rifle  shooting  at  birds,  chipmunks,  and  other  animals ; 
he  also  worked  in  the  gymnasium  and  riding  school 
with  great  energy  and  success.  Thus  he  systematic 
ally  prepared  himself  for  trips  in  the  wilderness. 
From  his  freshman  year  onward  he  devoted  every 
summer  vacation  to  journeys  about  the  United  States 
and  Canada,  partly  in  inhabited  regions  to  collect 
historic  material,  and  partly  in  the  wilderness  to 
study  its  features  and  the  experiences  of  life  on  the 
border  and  in  the  woods,  recording  his  observations 
in  a  few  small  diaries  kept  from  1841  to  1846. 

Parkman's  journals,   significant    though  they  are 


PREPARATION  53 

of  his  mind  and  character,  make  their  revelations 
quite  as  much  by  their  omissions  as  by  their  notes; 
and  if  we  would  see  their  whole  significance  and 
bearing  we  must  keep  in  mind  the  writer's  peculiar 
nature. 

They  sprang  from  no  impulse  to  record  the  move 
ments  of  his  inner  life ;  they  are  only  the  exercises  of 
a  young  man  bent  on  cultivating  his  powers  of  obser 
vation  and  description.  Singularly  reticent  in  regard 
to  feelings  and  intentions,  these  notes  are  almost 
exclusively  a  record  of  external  phenomena.  Yet, 
while  as  autobiographic  material  they  are  disappoint 
ing,  they  do  now  and  then  cast  light  on  Parkman's 
individuality.  Their  force  comes  from  his  sticking 
simply  to  facts,  and  from  his  good  judgment  in 
selecting  the  effective  and  characteristic  in  whatever 
he  sketches ;  having  been  written,  moreover,  without 
any  thought  of  publication,  their  style  has  the  charm 
of  simplicity  and  naturalness  sometimes  absent  from 
his  first  books.  They  are  everywhere  entirely  free 
from  the  grandiloquence  so  frequent  in  the  collegi- 
ate's  pages.  In  offering  some  extracts  it  is,  of 
course,  impracticable  to  maintain  a  rigid  division 
of  subjects;  we  shall  have  to  keep  as  a  clue  our 
chief  aim  of  revealing  Parkman's  personality  and 
growth,  and  let  the  headings  blend  more  or  less 
under  this  general  purpose. 

The  following  entry  in  his  diary  at  the  White 
Mountain  Notch  shows  with  what  nerve  and  ambition 
the  youth  was  setting  out  in  life  • 


54  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

"This  afternoon  I  achieved  the  most  serious  adventure 
it  was   ever  my  lot  to   encounter.     I  walked   down    the 
Notch  to  the  Willejr  House,  and  out  of  curiosity  began  to 
ascend  the  pathway  of  the   avalanche   on    the    mountain 
directly  behind.      This  pathway  is   a  deep   ravine  chan 
nelled  in  the  side  of  the  mountain,  which  in  this  place  is 
extremely    steep.     In    the    bottom    of    this    gulf  a    little 
stream  comes  down  from  a  spring  above,  and  renders  the 
precipitous  rocks  as  slippery  as  clay.     The  sides  of  the 
ravine,  which  runs  directly   up  and  down  the  mountain, 
are  a  decaying  granite,  while  the  bottom  is  formed  by  a 
trap-dike.     I  ascended  at  first  easily,  but  the  way  began 
to  be  steeper  and  the  walls  on  each  side  more  precipitous. 
Still  I  kept  on  until  I  came  to  a  precipice  about  forty  feet 
high  and  not  far  from  perpendicular.     I  could  see   that 
this    was   followed   by   a   similar   one    above.      Professor 
Silliinan,  a  year  or  two  ago,  ascended  in  this  place  until, 
as   he  says,  '  further  progress  was  prevented  by   inacces 
sible  precipices   of   the    trap-rock.7     The    exploit    of    the 
Professor  occurred  to   me   as   I  stood  below,  and  I  deter 
mined  that  the  i inaccessible  precipices'  which  had  cooled 
his  scientific  ardor  should  prove  no  barriers  to  me.    I  began 
to  climb,  and  with  considerable  difficulty  and  danger,  and 
with  the  loss  of  my  stick,  which  went  rattling  and  bound 
ing  down  the  ravine  many  rods  before  it  found  a  resting- 
place,  I  surmounted  both  precipices.     I  climbed  on,  but 
finding   that    I    was   becoming    drenched   by    the    scanty 
stream,  and  seeing,  moreover,  a  huge  cloud  not   far   up, 
settling  slowly  towards  me,  I  bethought  me  of  retracing 
my  steps.     I  knew  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  descend 
by  the  way  I  had  come,  and  accordingly,  I  tried  to   get 
out  of  the  ravine  to  the  side  of  the  mountain  which  was 


PREPARATION  55 

covered  with  wood  which  I  could  grasp  hold  of  to  assist 
me.  But  I  was  inclosed  between  two  walls  of  fifty  feet 
high  and  so  steep,  and  composed  of  such  materials  that 
an  attempt  to  climb  would  only  bring  down  the  rotting 
granite  upon  my  head.  So  I  began  to  descend  the  ravine, 
nothing  doubting  that  I  could  find  some  means  of  getting 
out  before  reaching  the  critical  point.  But  it  was  impos 
sible,  and  I  found  myself  at  the  top  of  the  precipice  with 
no  alternative  but  to  slide  down,  or  clamber  the  perpendi 
cular  and  decaying  walls  to  the  surface  of  the  mountain. 
The  former  was  certain  destruction,  as  I  proved  by  suffer 
ing  a  rotten  log  to  slide  down.  It  glanced  by  the  first 
descent  like  an  arrow,  struck  at  the  bottom,  bounded  six 
feet  into  the  air,  and  leaped  down  the  mountain,  splinter 
ing  into  twenty  pieces  as  it  went.  The  other  method  was 
scarcely  less  dangerous,  but  it  was  my  only  chance,  and 
I  braced  my  nerves  and  began  to  climb.  Down  went 
stones  and  pebbles,  clattering  hundreds  of  feet  below  and 
giving  me  a  grateful  indication  of  my  inevitable  fate  in 
case  my  head  should  swim  or  my  courage  fail.  I  had  got 
half  way  up  and  was  climbing  to  the  face  of  the  precipice, 
when  the  two  stones  which  supported  my  feet  loosened 
and  leaped  down  the  ravine.  My  finger  ends,  among  the 
rotten  gravel  were  all  which  sustained  me,  and  they,  of 
course,  would  have  failed  had  I  not  thought  on  the  in 
stant  of  lowering  my  body  gradually,  and  so  diminishing 
its  weight,  until  my  feet  found  new  supporters.  I  sunk 
the  length  of  my  arms  and  then  hung  for  the  time,  in 
tolerable  safety,  with  one  foot  resting  on  a  projecting 
stone.  Loosening  the  hold  of  one  hand,  I  took  my  large 
jack-knife  from  my  pocket,  opened  it,  with  the  assistance 
of  my  teeth,  and  dug  with  it  a  hollow  among  the  decayed 


56  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

stones,  large  enough  to  receive  and  support  one  foot. 
Then  thrusting  the  knife  as  far  as  possible  into  the  wall 
to  assist  my  hold,  I  grasped  it,  and  the  stones  with  the 
unoccupied  hand,  and  raised  my  foot  to  the  hollow  pre 
pared  for  it;  thus,  foot  by  foot,  I  made  my  way,  and  in 
ten  minutes,  as  time  seemed  to  me,  I  seized  a  projecting 
root  at  the  top  and  drew  myself  up.  During  the  whole 
time  of  climbing  I  felt  perfectly  cool,  but  when  fairly  up 
I  confess  I  shuddered  as  I  looked  down  at  the  gulf  I  had 
escaped.  A  large  stons,  weighing,  perhaps,  a  hundred 
pounds,  lay  on  the  edge.  I  thrust  it  off  with  my  foot, 
and  down  it  went,  struck  the  bottom  of  the  ravine  with 
a  tremendous  crash,  and  thundered  down,  leaping  from 
side  to  side,  until  it  lodged  at  last,  far  below  against  a 
projecting  rock.  I  descended  the  mountain  by  means  of 
the  trees  and  bushes,  cut  a  fishing-pole  at  the  bottom, 
and  having  amused  myself  with  an  hour's  fishing,  went 
to  the  tavern  and  astonished  the  company  with  a  recital 
of  my  adventure.  Crawford  expressed  considerable  aston 
ishment  at  my  escape,  and  the  young  lady  in  whose  com 
pany  I  got  my  ducking  on  the  stage  transferred  an 
account  to  her  journal,  but  refused  to  let  me  see  it, 
promising  to  send  me  a  copy  the  moment  her  book  was 
out  of  press." 

A  letter  to  his  father,  written  July  22,  two  days 
before  this  event,  shows  that  his  adventurous  spirit 
caused  some  anxiety  at  home.  The  happy  traveller 
said: 

"I  write,  as  in  duty  bound,  to  relieve  your  spirit  of 
the  overwhelming  load  of  anxiety  which  doubtless  op 
presses  you,  seeing  that  your  son  is  a  wanderer  in  a 


PREPARATION  57 

strange  land, — a  land  of  precipices  and  lakes,  bears, 
wolves,  and  wildcats.  Not  only  has  my  good  genius 
borne  me  in  safety  tbrough  such  manifold  perils,  but  he 
has  also  infused  into  my  heart  such  a  spirit  of  content 
ment  with  my  lot  that  I  should  be  in  no  wise  reconciled 
to  any  manner  of  change. " 

It  was  his  way  to  make  light  of  hardship,  fatigue, 
peril,  and  suffering ;  he  rarely  mentioned  them  in 
either  his  diaries,  conversations,  or  the  few  letters  he 
wrote. 

He  wrote  again  later: 

"The  worst  thing  I  have  yet  encountered  in  the  way 
of  danger  was  an  attack  from  an  old  he-goose  backed  by 
a  little  bitch  puppy,  who  assaulted  us  on  the  highway, 
but  was  soon  put  to  flight  without  loss  of  life  on  either 
side." 

Here  is  one  of  his  earliest  pictures  of  the  wilder 
ness  he  was  later  to  portray  so  vividly : 

"We  passed  the  meadows  at  length,  and  again  our  way 
was  through  the  forest,  and  a  most  wild  and  beautiful  ap 
pearance  did  the  river  shores  present  (the  Magalloway). 
From  the  high  banks  huge  old  pines  stooped  forward  over 
the  water,  the  moss  hanging  from  their  aged  branches, 
and  behind  rose  a  wall  of  foliage,  green  and  thick,  with 
no  space  or  opening  which  the  eye  could  penetrate.  .  .  . 
Soon  the  moon  came  up  and  glistened  on  the  still  river 
and  half  lighted  the  black  forest.  An  owl,  disturbed  by 
the  glare  of  our  fire,  sent  forth  a  long,  wild  cry  from  the 
depths  of  the  woods,  and  was  answered  by  the  shrill  bark 
of  some  other  habitant  of  the  forest." 


58  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

This  practical  study  of  the  wilderness  and  the  life 
men  led  in  it  was  the  most  congenial  of  all  his  labors 
of  preparation;  but  it  was  cut  short  when  he  had 
finished  his  journey  on  the  Oregon  Trail. 

Such  trips  furnished  amusing  incidents  as  well  as 
trying  ones,  and  the  youth  showed  his  patience  and 
good  humor  by  making  equally  light  of  both  kinds 
of  experiences.  This  diary  of  1841  tells  of  his 
friend  Slade  and  himself  crossing  a  "guzzle  "  on  their 
tramp  up  the  Magalloway : 

"I  said  before  that  our  road  was  of  a  structure  some 
what  unelaborate,  but  as  yet  we  had  encountered  no  dif 
ficulties  like  that  which  now  presented  itself.  A  rnudoVy 
creek  two  rods  wide  and  of  uncertain  depth  extended  back 
from  the  river  directly  across  our  path.  There  had  once 
been,  as  we  were  assured,  a  trunk  felled  so  as  to  form  a 
sort  of  bridge  across  this  slough  of  despond,  but  now  the 
only  means  of  passing  were  three  or  four  slender  poles 
projecting  from  each  side  and  meeting  in  the  middle 
where  a  floating  log  contributed  to  their  support.  We 
stood  in  horror  and  amazement,  in  vain  endeavoring  to 
solve  the  problem  how  a  man  of  ordinary  weight  could 
place  his  foot  on  such  a  structure  without  '  slumping  in  ' 
at  once.  We  determined  to  put  the  matter  to  the  test  of 
experiment.  I  excused  myself  from  making  the  first  essay 
on  the  plea  that  I  carried  a  heavier  weight  than  my 
friend,  upon  whom,  then,  the  first  responsibility  de 
volved.  Seated  on  the  bank  I  watched  his  operations. 
With  a  countenance  of  direful  import,  he  strapped  his 
knapsack  firmly  on  his  back,  grasped  a  long  pole,  one  end 
of  which  he  planted  firmly  in  the  mud  at  the  bottom  to 


PREPARATION  59 

support  his  tottering  footsteps,  and  cautiously  advanced 
his  foot  upon  the  frail  bridge.  He  had  gotten  about  two 
yards  from  the  bank,  when  the  poles  began  gradually  to 
sink  beneath  his  weight,  yet  by  a  certain  fatality  he  con 
tinued  to  advance  until  he  gained  the  log  in  the  middle. 
The  water  was  above  his  knees,  and  fast  rising  to  his 
waist.  The  poles  began  to  glide  like  eels  from  beneath 
him ;  if  he  stood  still  the  bridge  was  too  weak  to  sustain 
him,  if  he  moved  he  lost  his  foothold.  He  felt  his  fate 
inevitable,  and  with  a  dismal  imprecation  sprang  desper 
ately  toward  some  loose  logs  and  brush-wood  that  floated 
near  the  opposite  bank.  The  logs  tilted  up,  there  was  a 
heavy  splash,  and  my  friend  appeared  struggling  and 
floundering  amid  the  ruins  of  the  demolished  bridge.  He 
grasped  a  root  that  projected  from  the  bank,  and  drew 
himself  up  wet  and  beslimed  from  head  to  foot,  but  with 
a  temper  in  no  wise  affected  by  his  misfortune,  for  he 
responded  most  heartily  to  the  laughter  with  which  I 
saluted  him.  My  companion  being  over  six  feet  bigh, 
and  yet  feeling  as  he  declared,  no  bottom  to  the  gulf,  I 
felt  my  own  situation  rather  awkward.  I  set  about  mak 
ing  a  new  bridge  while  he  arranged  his  toilet  as  best  he 
might  on  the  other  side.  Strapping  my  gun  and  other 
equipments  to  my  back  I  managed  to  get  over,  though 
wet  to  the  knees." 

In  all  his  wanderings  Parkman  never  made  an 
aimless  journey ;  even  now,  when  a  freshman  out  on 
his  summer  vacation,  he  had  a  very  practical  pur 
pose  in  view: 

"My  chief  object  in  coming  so  far  was  merely  to  have 
a  taste  of  the  half  savage  kind  of  life  necessary  to  be  led, 


60  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

and  to  see  the  wilderness  where  it  was  as  yet  uninvaded 
by  the  hand  of  man." 

And  at  the  close  of  the  trip : 

"I  regard  this  journey  hut  ( as  the  beginning  of 
greater  things,7  and  as  merely  prefatory  to  longer 
wanderings." 

In  1842  he  went  again  to  the  Magalloway.  Nat 
urally  such  an  ardent  lover  of  forest  life  was  pained 
by  all  elements  of  civilization  that  destroyed  the  wil 
derness  and  altered  primitive,  or  at  least  simple, 
methods  of  living.  Thus  he  said  at  the  beginning 
of  this  trip  of  1842,  while  in  the  train  en  route  for 
Albany:  "Of  all  methods  of  progressing,  that  by 
steam  is  incomparably  the  most  disgusting."  The 
sights  of  Saratoga  put  him  into  an  "  unmitigated  tem 
per,"  while  at  Glens  Falls,  so  degraded  from  their 
natural  beauty,  his  "wrath  mounted  higher  yet." 
He  was  equipped  this  year  for  the  wilderness  better 
than  before,  having  among  other  things,  his  much- 
loved  rifle  "Satan."  There  is  little  to  quote  con 
cerning  his  study  of  nature  on  this  trip ;  the  best  of 
his  diary  is  to  be  seen  in  the  article  in  Harper's, 
"Exploring  the  Magalloway."  Here,  however,  is  a 
good  touch  concerning  Lake  George: 

"  We  kept  down  the  lake  with  a  fierce  wind  sweeping 
down  after  us  and  driving  the  mists  before  it.  The  water 
was  a  dark,  glistening  blue,  with  lines  of  foam  on  the 
crests  of  the  waves ;  huge  shadows  of  clouds  coursed  along 


PREPARATION  61 

the  mountains.  The  little  islands  would  be  lighted  at 
one  instant  by  a  stream  of  sunshine  falling  on  them,  and 
almost  making  their  black  pines  transparent,  and  the  next 
moment  they  would  be  suddenly  darkened,  and  all  around 
be  glittering  with  a  sudden  burst  of  light  from  the  open 
ing  clouds." 

The  following  passage  is  exceptional  for  him,  deal 
ing,  as  it  does,  explicitly  with  sentiment,  and  read 
ing  into  nature  his  own  mood : 

"The  air  was  full  of  mists,  rolling  along  the  hills,  and 
entangled  among  the  trees.  Every  mountain  was  hidden 
among  clouds.  We  passed  through  tracts  of  half  burned 
forests,  steaming  and  smoking,  some  blasted  trunks  stand 
ing  upright,  others  prostrate  among  charred  trunks  and 
tangled  underwood,  all  looking  supernaturally  dismal 
through  mist  and  rain.  ...  At  last  we  saw  Lake  Mem- 
phremagog,  —  a  direful  composition  of  great  sheets  of 
leaden  water,  scarce  distinguishable  from  the  fogs  that 
enveloped  it,  and  a  border  of  melancholy  trees  which  stood 
apparently  lamenting,  and  pouring  forth  copious  tears 
above  it.  All  nature  was  in  a  fit  of  the  blue-devils." 

Forest  trees  were  evidently  very  dear  to  him ;  they 
were  the  chief  beings  composing  his  favorite  world  of 
the  wilderness,  and  they,  more  than  any  other  single 
element  of  a  landscape,  seem  to  have  kindled  his 
imagination  to  the  heat  of  poetic  figures.  He  thus 
recorded  his  sympathy  with  these  mute  witnesses  of 
his  future  dramas:1 

1  Harper's  Magazine,  Nov.  1864,  p.  736. 


62  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

"  Around  us  was  an  innumerable  host  of  trunks  straight 
and  crooked,  smooth  with  youth,  or  hepatched  with  the 
mosses  and  lichens  of  rugged  old  age;  erect  in  pristine 
vigor,  or  staggering  for  support  against  their  neighbors; 
knotted  and  gnarled,  infected  with  goitres  and  tumors, 
warts,  and  hideous  fungi;  or  dribbling  pitch  or  turpentine 
from  frost-rent  crevices  and  the  stumps  of  wind-amputated 
limbs.  Their  dead  comrades  in  every  stage  of  dissolution 
and  every  variety  of  posture,  cumbered  the  earth  below, 
overgrown  with  a  vile  mesh-work  of  vines  and  creepers, 
scrub  oaks,  scrub  savins,  matted  junipers  and  trailing 
wintergreen.  Looking  upward  we  could  enjoy  at  intervals 
a  hand's  breadth  of  sky  between  the  leaves,  and  the  sur 
rounding  circle  of  vision  varied  from  three  yards  to  fifteen. 
Now  and  then  there  was  a  {  windfall '  —  a  disgusting  feature 
of  forest  scenery,  owing  its  origin  to  the  passage  of  a 
whirlwind,  sweeping  down  the  trees  and  piling  them  in 
masses.  One  of  them,  in  a  hollow  place,  where  a  gorge 
opened  from  the  mountain,  presented  an  aspect  singularly 
unpleasing.  It  was  of  old  date,  for  the  forest  had  grown 
up  around  and  over  it.  Some  of  the  trees  had  their  heels 
in  the  air,  some  their  heads,  some  were  prostrate,  and 
sprawling,  and  the  rest  pitched  together  at  every  angle 
which  the  tyrannical  caprice  of  the  tornado  had  ordained. 
All  were  more  or  less  rotten,  according  to  their  nature  and 
position.  Some  were  a  mass  of  pulp,  delicately  coated  over 
with  a  sleek  green  moss,  which,  pressed  with  the  finger, 
oozed  like  a  sponge.  Others  not  as  perishable  or  lifted 
higher  from  the  earth  still  showed  fight  against  the 
elements,  and  scores  of  red  cedars  in  particular  bristled 
out  of  every  part  of  the  pile  in  an  execrable  chevaux-de- 
frise." 


PREPARATION  63 

In  his  diary  of  the  summer  of  1843  is  this  passage 
relating  to  scenery : 

11 1  write  at  the  bottom  of  a  den  more  savage  than  the 
last.  Turn  to  the  left  as  you  approach  Crawford's,  enter  a 
gateway  of  rock,  and  you  will  reach  two  dens  that  look 
like  the  very  bottom  of  hell.  Nothing  but  great  piles  of 
damp  mossy  rocks,  rotten  timber,  huge  black  cliffs,  fenc 
ing  you  in  with  trees  stretching  across  from  their  edges. 
A  stream  is  plunging  somewhere  underground  and  break 
ing  out  into  a  black  pool  among  the  moss.  Behind  is  a 
great  heap  of  rocks  where  you  descend.  In  front  a  steep 
descent,  choked  with  fallen  timber,  and  such  a  tangled 
mass  of  vegetation  that  a  bear  could  scarce  get  through." 

Under  a  pressed  flower,  still  preserved  between  the 
pages,  he  wrote:  "This  delicate  little  flower,  what 
ever  it  be,  I  place  here  in  memory  of  the  grimmest, 
dismallest  den  on  earth,  where  it  grew  among  moist 
precipices  and  rotting  logs." 

In  the  autumn  of  1843  Parkman  sailed  for  Europe 
from  motives  connected  with  his  health.  This  diary 
of  1843-44  is  more  interesting  than  the  earlier  ones, 
his  mind  now  being  more  mature  and  the  field  of  his 
observations  more  varied  and  extensive.  Not  even 
seasickness  could  repress  his  energy  and  interest  in 
the  phenomena  about  him.  "A  turtle,"  he  wrote, 
"came  up  at  the  ship's  side  to  sleep  on  the  quiet 
surface,  but  prudently  sunk  back  to  the  depths  just 
as  Mr.  Hansen  was  lowering  me  by  a  rope  to  take 
him  prisoner."  But  he  was  attracted  chiefly  by  the 
grander  aspect  of  the  sea : 


64  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

"As  soon  as  it  was  daybreak  I  went  on  deck.  Two  or 
three  sails  were  set  —  the  vessel  scouring  along,  leaning 
over  so  that  her  gunwale  scooped  up  the  water ;  the  water 
in  a  foam,  and  clouds  of  spray  flying  over  us,  frequently 
as  high  as  the  mainyard.  The  spray  was  driven  with  such 
force  that  it  pricked  the  cheek  like  needles.  I  stayed  on 
deck  two  or  three  hours ;  when,  being  thoroughly  salted,  I 
went  down,  changed  my  clothes,  and  read  '  Don  Quixote/ 
till  Mr.  Snow  appeared  at  the  door  with  —  '  You  7  re  the 
man  that  wants  to  see  a  gale  of  wind,  are  ye  ?  Now 's 
your  chance:  only  just  come  up  on  deck.'  I  went.  The 
wind  was  yelling  and  howling  in  the  rigging  in  a  fashion 
that  reminded  me  of  a  storm  in  a  Canadian  forest.  ...  I 
got  hold  of  a  rope  by  the  mizzen  mast,  and  looked  about 
on  a  scene  that  it  would  be  perfect  folly  to  attempt  to 
describe.  .  .  .  The  sailors  clung,  half  drowned,  to  what 
ever  they  could  lay  hold  of,  for  the  vessel  was,  at  times, 
half  inverted,  and  tons  of  water  washed  from  side  to  side 
of  her  deck.  ...  As  for  the  usual  horizon  it  had  disap 
peared —  we  seemed  imbedded  among  moving  mountains. 
...  It  was  a  noble  sight  when  at  intervals  the  sun  broke 
out  over  the  savage  waste,  changing  its  blackness  to  a 
rich  blue,  almost  as  dark;  while  the  foam  that  flew  over 
it  seemed  like  whirling  snow-wreaths  on  the  mountains." 

The  voyage  was  tedious  with  bad  weather;  from 
storms  they  passed  to  exasperating  calms  when  al 
most  in  sight  of  Gibraltar,  and  he  reported  in  this 
way  the  captain's  complaints: 

"  'A.  head  wind  and  none  of  it/  groans  the  Captain: 
<  if  ever  I  see  the  beat  of  this  ! '  This  is  but  the  nucleus 
of  his  remarks,  so  to  speak,  which  he  surrounds  and 


PREPARATION  65 

adorns  with  a  host  of  forcible  and  ornamental  forms  of 
expression  which  I  refrain  from  recording." 

But  at  last  they  landed  at  Gibraltar,  and  Parkman 
rested  his  observant  eyes  on  European  scenes.  As 
he  visited  no  places  that  are  new  to  readers  of  to 
day,  we  pass  by  most  of  his  descriptive  pages;  but 
here  and  there  a  passage  is  noteworthy  as  a  reflection 
of  his  tastes  and  characteristics.  He  gave  in  these 
few  words  an  admirable  picture  of  Palermo: 

"  After  taking  a  last  look  at  the  ancient  and  moss- 
grown  church  and  the  black  cliffs  around  it,  I  left  Monte 
Pellegrino.  As  we  waded  through  the  snow  down  the 
mountain  the  view  of  Palermo  was  noble.  The  valley 
was  as  smooth  and  level  as  the  ocean,  and  set  between 
the  immense  arch  of  snow-covered  mountains,  as  green 
and  bright  as  an  emerald.  The  city  was  but  a  very 
small  part  —  there  were  forests  of  olive  trees,  and  im 
measurable  gardens,  all  dotted  with  white  houses,  and  the 
palaces  of  the  nobles.  It  was  the  King's  birthday,  and 
the  city  was  half  covered  with  the  smoke  of  cannon." 

Seldom  does  a  celebrated  historian  show  Parkman's 
degree  of  indifference  to  archaeology  and  his  prefer 
ence  for  nature  over  the  works  of  man.  At  Naples 
he  found  that  in  the  continual  attacks  of  beggars  and 
custodians  "you  have  a  sum  of  petty  vexations 
enough  to  damp  any  man's  zeal  for  exploring  classi 
cal  localities.  Fortunately  I  never  had  much  to  lose. 
I  would  go  farther  for  one  look  into  the  crater  of 
Vesuvius  than  to  see  all  the  ruined  temples  in  Italy." 


66  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

He  was  fortunate  enough  to  visit  the  volcano  with 
Theodore  Parker: 

"  Our  guides  went  quite  near  to  the  base  of  the  cone, 
dodging  the  falling  lava  with  great  activity.  Some  of 
these  melted  masses  must  have  weighed  a  ton.  As  they 
fell,  they  spread  out  over  a  large  surface.  The  guide 
would  make  a  sudden  rush  at  them,  detach  a  small  por 
tion  with  a  pole,  which  he  carried  to  a  safe  distance  and 
then  stamped  by  pressing  a  copper  coin  into  it.  After  a 
while  Mr.  Parker  and  I  took  our  part  in  the  exercise,  and 
secured  several  trophies.  The  floor  of  the  great  crater  on 
which  we  stood  had  been  a  sea  of  melted  lava  only  three 
days  before." 

The  memory  of  this  scene  possibly  sprang  up  in 
his  mind  thirty  years  afterwards,  when  writing  of 
the  Missionaries,  and  suggested  this  telling  com 
parison  : 

"  Whether  the  foe  was  of  earth  or  hell,  the  Jesuits 
were  like  those  who  tread  the  lava-crust  that  palpitates 
with  the  throes  of  the  coming  eruption,  while  the  molten 
death  beneath  their  feet  glares  white-hot  through  a 
thousand  crevices. " l 

Of  Lake  Como  he  said : 

"I  have  seen  nothing  at  home  or  abroad  more  beautiful 
than  this  lake.  It  reminds  me  of  Lake  George  —  the 
same  extent,  the  same  figure,  the  same  crystal  purity  of 
waters,  the  same  wild  and  beautiful  mountains  on  either 
side.  But  the  comparison  will  not  go  farther.  Here  are 

1  The  Old  Regime,  p.  81. 


PREPARATION  67 

a  hundred  palaces  and  villages  scattered  along  the  water's 
edge,  and  up  the  declivities.  There  is  none  of  that 
shaggy  untamed  aspect  in  the  mountains  —  no  piles  of 
rocks,  grown  over  with  stunted  bushes;  or  half  decayed 
logs  fallen  along  the  shore.  There  are  none  of  those  little 
islands,  covered  with  rough  and  moss-grown  pine  trees, 
which  give  a  certain  savage  character  to  the  beauties  of 
Lake  George.  All  here  is  like  a  finished  picture;  even 
the  wildest  rocks  seem  softened  in  the  air  of  Italy.  Give 
me  Lake  George,  and  the  smell  of  the  pine  and  fir ! " 

Crossing  the  Alps  by  the  Spliigen  Pass,  he  found 
much  that  impressed  him  profoundly : 

' '  I  spent  the  day  yesterday  in  the  valley  of  Ferrera, 
one  of  the  wildest  and  loneliest  in  the  Alps,  and  accessible 
only  by  a  bad  foot-path.  The  river  comes  down  at  the 
bottom,  which  the  sun  scarcely  ever  touches.  The 
mountains  rise  on  each  side  many  thousand  feet,  broken 
into  crags  and  precipices,  with  streams  falling  down  them 
in  all  directions,  scattering  into  white  mists  before  they 
reach  the  bottom.  The  spruce  trees  are  sprinkled  all  over 
the  cliffs,  wherever  there  is  a  crevice  to  cling  in;  some 
gigantic  pines  stoop  across  the  river  and  fairly  seem  to 
quiver  with  the  tremendous  roar  of  the  water.  All  is 
solitary  and  still  as  death,  excepting  the  noise  of  the 
river;  yet  you  cannot  sit  on  one  of  these  rocks,  and 
watch  the  green  and  furious  water,  glancing  between  the 
trunks  and  branches  below,  without  fancying  that  you  hear 
sounds  and  voices  about  you.  I  never  knew  a  place  so 
haunted  by  t  those  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's 


68  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

The  Alps,  especially  those  wilder  regions  about 
Andeer,  seem  to  have  given  him  his  deepest  enjoy 
ment  of  scenery  on  the  continent.  He  wrote  at  this 
place : 

"  Nothing  could  surpass  the  utter  savageness  of  the 
scenery  that  you  find  by  tracing  up  some  of  the  little 
streams  that  pour  down  on  all  sides  to  join  the  Rhine  ;  not 
a  trace  of  human  hand  —  it  is  as  wild  as  the  back  forest 
at  home.  The  mountains,  too,  wear  the  same  aspect. 
There  is  one  valley  where  a  large  stream  comes  down  to 
join  the  main  river,  a  mile  from  Andeer.  Last  night  I 
followed  it  for  a  mile  or  two,  back  into  the  mountains. 
Not  Cooper  himself  could  do  it  justice.  The  river  was  a 
hundred  feet  below,  in  a  ravine,  where  it  lashed  from  side 
to  side,  and  bounded  sometimes  in  a  fall  of  fifty  or  sixty 
feet  —  the  green  headlong  water,  the  white  foam,  and  the 
spray  just  visible  through  the  boughs  of  the  distorted 
pines  that  leaned  over  the  abyss.  There  was  in  one  place 
a  peasant's  hut  of  logs,  but  it  seemed  only  to  increase  the 
sublime  effect  of  the  wilderness.  I  got  down  to  the  bed 
of  the  river,  and  leaped  out  to  some  rocks  near  the  centre. 
It  was  nearly  dark — long  after  sunset.  What  with  the 
deafening  thunder  of  the  stream  —  the  gloom  that  began 
to  involve  the  shaggy  branches  of  the  yellow  pines,  that 
leaned  nearly  across  the  gulf,  and  the  stiff  and  upright 
spruces  that  sprung  from  every  crevice  of  the  rock  — 
what  with  this  and  the  savage  aspect  of  the  rocks,  which 
were  black  and  dripping  with  spray  —  there  was  some 
thing  almost  appalling  in  the  place.  Above  the  tops  of 
the  trees  rose  mountains  like  ours  of  New  England,  cov 
ered  with  fir  trees,  wherever  one  could  cling  in  the 


PREPARATION  69 

crevices  of  the  steep  cliffs.  And  in  another  direction  the 
more  distant  peaks  were  white  with  snow  which  retained 
its  glistening  brightness  long  after  the  moon  had  begun 
to  cast  a  shadow.  Here  was  a  change  with  a  vengeance, 
from  the  Italian  beauties  of  the  Lake  of  Como.  I  sat  on 
the  rock,  fancying  myself  again  in  the  American  woods 
with  an  Indian  companion ;  but  as  I  rose  to  go  away  the 
hellish  beating  of  my  heart  warned  me  that  no  more  such 
expeditions  were  in  store  for  me,  for  the  present  at  least  — 
but  if  I  do  not  sleep  by  the  camp  fire  again  it  shall  be  no 
fault  of  mine." 

He  added :  "  I  never  left  any  place  with  more  regret 
than  these  mountains." 

On  reaching  Scotland,  he  derived  the  keenest  pleas 
ure  of  his  entire  journey  from  the  scenery  connected 
with  Scott  and  his  works.  He  said : 

"  I  like  the  Scotch  —  I  like  the  country  and  everything 
in  it.  The  Liverpool  packet  will  not  wait,  or  I  should 
stay  long  here  and  take  a  trout  from  every  '  burnie '  in 
the  Cheviot.  The  scenery  has  been  grossly  belied  by 
Irving  and  others  —  it  is  wild  and  beautiful  —  I  have  seen 
none  more  so." 

He  regretted  that  he  had  not  time  to  visit  the  High 
lands.  Edinburgh  is  the  city  he  liked  best  of  all: 
"  The  view  from  Calton  Hill  is,  to  my  thinking,  the 
only  city  view  I  ever  saw  that  deserved  to  be  called 
sublime." 

His  diaries  of  1845  and  of  1846,  before  he  reached 
the  prairies,  contain  very  little  relative  to  nature; 
but  that  little  is  not  without  interest,  in  showing  a 


70  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

stronger  tendency  in  his  mind  to  study  details.  He 
wrote  at  Cahokia,  near  St.  Louis,  just  before  his 
departure  on  the  Oregon  Trail  trip: 

"  I  walked  up  the  banks  of  the  creek  into  the  woods  — 
it  was  nothing  like  our  swift  and  clear  mountain  waters 
—  all  was  teeming  with  life,  animal  and  vegetable,  just 
awakening  in  the  warm  spring  sunshine.  The  creek  was 
slow  and  sluggish  —  a  haunt,  in  the  season,  for  fever  and 
ague  —  the  luxuriant  woods  overshadowed  it,  interlaced 
with  vines  like  snakes,  and  all  bursting  into  leaf  and 
flower  —  full,  too,  of  birds,  who  would  come  down  to 
splash  and  wash  themselves  in  the  water — and  fragrant 
with  the  fresh  smell  of  young  leaves  and  blossoms.  The 
pool  was  full  of  frogs  and  great  turtles,  sitting  on  logs, 
and  among  slime  —  now  and  then  a  water  snake,  with  his 
head  lifted  high,  would  writhe  his  way  across  —  and  as 
you  pass  by  some  sheltered  cove  the  whole  water  would 
be  alive  with  minute  fishes,  skipping  out  of  it  in  their 
terror." 

As  a  final  word  on  his  love  of  nature  may  be  given 
this  passage  from  his  diary  in  Sicily  in  1843-44:  "I 
never  imagined  that  so  much  pleasure  could  be  con 
veyed  through  the  eye,  a  pleasure  not  inferior  to  and 
not  unlike  that  of  looking  upon  the  face  of  a  beauti 
ful  woman." 

Unhappily  his  diaries  came  to  an  end  with  that  of 
1846,  which  was  the  basis  of  "The  Oregon  Trail." 
For  this  important  and  arduous  journey  he  had  pre 
pared  himself  most  thoroughly  by  the  study  of  nature 


PREPARATION  71 

we  have  been  following;  by  a  systematic  physical 
training  in  gymnastics,  riding,  and  tramping;  by  the 
practice  of  shooting,  trailing,  camping,  and  wood 
craft  in  general;  by  a  long  study  of  Indian  character, 
life,  history,  and  traditions.  This  book  merits  the 
reader's  attention  not  only  as  a  record  of  Indian  life 
now  no  longer  visible,  but  especially  as  a  revelation 
of  the  writer's  enthusiastic  love  of  freedom,  adven 
ture,  and  activity;  it  shows  with  what  absolute  in 
difference  he  faced  danger,  with  what  fortitude  he 
endured  hardship,  fatigue,  and  suffering,  with  what 
energy  and  persistence  he  pursued  a  most  hazardous 
undertaking  to  a  successful  close.  This  trip  and  its 
record,  so  characteristic  of  the  man,  were  a  striking 
culmination  of  his  study  of  nature  in  her  wildest  and 
grandest  solitudes  of  prairie,  desert,  forest,  and 
mountain,  and  in  the  company  of  the  wildest  tribes  of 
men. 


CHAPTER   IV 

PARKMAN'S  education  in  books  was  from  an  early 
day  governed  by  the  same  happy  combination  of 
wisdom,  instinct,  and  good  fortune  that  directed  his 
relations  to  nature.  In  fact,  with  the  exception  of 
the  study  of  chemistry,  everything  he  did  as  boy 
and  young  man,  —  whether  play,  study,  or  travel  — 
helped  directly  to  prepare  him  for  his  future  career. 
He  attended  his  first  school  at  Medford.  In  1836 
he  entered  the  school  of  Mr.  Gideon  Thayer,  in 
Chauncy  Place,  Boston.  His  teacher,  the  late  Mr. 
Thomas  Gushing,  said  of  him  : 

"  He  was  a  quiet,  gentle,  and  docile  boy,  who  seemed 
to  appreciate  the  fact  that  school  meant  an  opportunity 
for  improvement,  and  always  gave  an  open  and  willing 
mind  to  instruction.  He  became,  according  to  the  ideas 
of  the  day,  a  good  Latin  and  Greek  scholar,  and  excelled 
in  the  rhetorical  department.  I  think  he  early  set  his 
face  in  the  direction  of  a  literary  life  of  some  sort,  though 
the  idea  of  historical  work  was  probably  developed  some 
what  later.  As  a  means  to  any  sort  of  literary  work,  he 
no  doubt  saw  the  advantage  and  necessity  of  forming  a 
good  English  style  and  acquiring  correctness  in  the  use 
of  language,  and  took  great  pains  with  all  exercises 
tending  to  bring  about  this  result.  His  compositions 


PREPARATION  73 

were  especially  good,  and  he  used  sometimes  as  a  volun 
tary  exercise  to  versify  descriptions  of  heroic  achieve 
ments  that  occurred  in  his  reading.  I  remember  that 
he  put  into  verse  the  whole  description  of  the  Tourna 
ment  in  Scott's  "Ivanhoe,"  and  then  used  it  afterwards 
in  declamation,  and  it  was  so  much  liked  that  other  boys 
used  it  for  the  same  purpose.  I  think  he  might  have 
excelled  in  narrative  and  descriptive  poetry  (the  poetry 
of  action)  had  he  not  early  imbibed  the  historical  idea. 
He  often  expressed  to  me  in  after  life  the  great  advantage 
that  he  received  from  the  instruction  of  one  of  the  teach 
ers  at  that  time  connected  with  Chauncy  Hall  school,  in 
everything  pertaining  to  the  use  of  English  and  the 
formation  of  style,  which  he  followed  up  at  Harvard 
by  diligent  use  of  his  opportunities  with  an  excellent 
instructor,  Prof.  Edward  T.  Channing." 

Parkman    gave    this    account    of    his    study    of 
writing : 

.  "When  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  old  I  had  the  good 
luck  to  be  under  the  direction  of  Mr.  William  Russel,  a 
teacher  of  excellent  literary  taste  ,and  acquirements.  It 
was  his  constant  care  to  teach  the  boys  of  his  class  to 
write  good  and  easy  English.  One  of  his  methods  was 
to  give  us  lists  of  words  to  which  we  were  required  to 
furnish  as  many  synonyms  as  possible,  distinguishing 
their  various  shades  of  meaning.  He  also  encouraged  us 
to  write  translations,  in  prose  and  verse,  from  Virgil  and 
Homer,  insisting  on  idiomatic  English,  and  criticising 
in  his  gentle  way  anything  flowery  and  bombastic.  At 
this  time  I  read  a  good  deal  of  poetry,  and  much  of  it 
1  Wheelwright. 


74  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

remains  verbatim  in  my  memory.  As  it  included  Milton 
and  other  classics,  I  am  confident  that  it  has  been  of 
service  to  me  in  the  matter  of  style.  Later  on,  when  in 
college,  and  after  leaving  it,  I  read  English  prose  classics 
for  the  express  purpose  of  improving  myself  in  the  lan 
guage.1  These  I  take  to  be  the  chief  sources  of  such 
success  as  I  have  had  in  this  particular."  2 

He  looked  back  with  satisfaction  upon  his  school 
days,  and  in  after  life  it  always  gave  him  much 
pleasure  to  meet  his  old  teachers  and  show  them 
respect  and  kindness. 

His  college  course  brings  to  light  his  independ 
ence,  strong  practical  turn  of  mind,  and  indifference 
to  the  spirit  and  theoretical  aims  of  perfectionists. 
In  opposition  to  the  opinions  and  practice  of  his  day, 
he  was  probably  the  first  man  in  American  colleges 
to  follow  an  elective  course  and  become  a  specialist. 
He  was  not  led  by  ideality  to  desire  the  greatest 
breadth  of  culture ;  on  the  contrary,  his  instincts, 
tastes  and  judgment,  all  pointed  to  one  field,  and  he 
confined  himself  to  the  straightest  path  thither.  If 
we  may  judge  by  his  reading,  writing,  and  memoriz 
ing  much  poetry  at  school,  and  by  the  records  of  his 
reading  at  Harvard,  poetry  was  the  first  aim  of 
his  literary  ambition.  He  referred  probably  to  this 
design  in  his  autobiography : 

"  After  the  usual  boyish  phases  of  ambitious  self- 
ignorance,  he  resolved  to  confine  his  homage  to  the  Muse 

1  Burke  is  said  to  have  been  his  chief  model  for  style. 

2  The  Art  of  Authorship,  personally  contributed  by  leading  authors 
of  the  day.     Compiled  and  edited  by  George  Bainton,  London,  1890. 


PREPARATION  75 

of  History,  as  being  less  apt  than  her  wayward  sisters  to 
requite  his  devotion  with  a  mortifying  rebuff." 

Not  only  did  he  early  abandon  his  poetic  illusion, 
but  he  also  chose  with  great  promptness  the  division 
of  history  to  which  he  would  devote  himself.  "  At 
the  age  of  eighteen  the  plan  which  he  is  still  at 
tempting  to  execute  was,  in  its  most  essential  feat 
ures,  formed." 

Thus  early  in  life  did  Parkman  see  his  way  and 
enter  upon  his  course.  He  now  changed  his  reading 
quite  abruptly  and  completely  from  poetry  to  the 
accounts  of  border  life,  the  Indians,  the  French  and 
Indian  War ;  directing  his  college  labors  chiefly  to 
the  study  of  history  and  of  English  composition. 
It  was  remarked  that  he  always  did  with  the  great 
est  energy  and  persistence  what  he  liked  to  do,  and 
neglected  other  things  in  the  same  masterful  fashion. 
He  therefore  attained  to  good  scholarship  in  his 
chosen  branches  of  history  and  rhetoric.  He  mas 
tered  also  French,  and  Latin  as  far  as  was  necessary 
for  his  future  investigations.  He  described  his  own 
standing,  as  well  as  some  of  his  college  experiences 
with  his  chum,  in  an  after-dinner  speech  in  1885 : 1 

"  Something  more  than  forty  years  ago  Mr.  Benjamin 
Apthorp  Gould,  Master  of  the  Latin  School,  and  Dr. 
Parkman,  Minister  of  the  New  North  Church,  took  coun 
sel  together  and  agreed  that  their  sons,  who  were  just 
passing  the  freshman  examination  at  Harvard,  should  be 

1  Speech  at  a  dinner  given  in  honor  of  Dr.  Gould,  May  1,  1885. 
Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 


76  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

joined  in  bonds  of  chumship.  This  union,  thus  brought 
about  by  the  parents  between  young  persons  who  had 
never  seen  each  other,  was  the  foundation  and.  beginning 
of  a  lifelong  friendship.  Its  beginnings  were  a  little 
breezy,  I  might  say  squally.  On  one  occasion  Mr.  Gould 
came  out  to  pour  oil  upon  the  troubled  waters,  and  with 
a  good  humored  seriousness  he  told  us  that  chumship  is 
like  matrimony,  —  it  requires  a  great  deal  of  forbearance 
on  both  sides.  Whether  it  was  in  consequence  of  this 
remark  or  not,  I  do  not  know,  but  certain  it  is  that  a 
most  cordial  harmony  was  soon  restored  between  the 
parties,  and  has  continued  unbroken  to  this  day.  I 
remember  an  incident  which  took  place  on  the  evening  of 
the  day  when  we  first  occupied  No.  9  Holworthy,  which 
after  it  was  over,  gave  us  both  a  good  deal  of  pleasure. 
It  was  a  very  hot  night.  We  had  opened  our  windows 
in  search  of  air,  when  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
ten  or  twelve  seniors  came  in.  It  was  an  immensely  im 
pressive  circumstance.  We  regarded  the  seniors  with 
awe  and  reverence.  Still  it  was  not  above  their  dignity 
to  haze  a  couple  of  harmless  and  callow  freshmen.  They 
closed  the  windows  and  took  out  cigars  and  began  to 
smoke  their  cigars  to  smoke  us  out.  We  bore  it  for  a 
while;  then  the  air  became  thick,  and  we  began  to  think 
we  had  had  enough  of  it.  Suddenly  one  of  the  seniors 
sprang  up  and  rushed  to  the  door  and  asked  for  the  key. 
The  door  was  open,  he  went  out,  left  his  supper  on  the 
doorstep  and  went  to  his  room,  followed  by  all  the  rest. 

"  The  average  scholarship  of  Holworthy  was  exceed 
ingly  creditable.  As  regards  mathematics,  it  was  particu 
larly  so  —  in  spite  of  fate,  I  might  say,  for  I  always  and 
invariably  failed,  and  my  chum  came  off  with  flying 


PREPARATION  77 

colors,  making  up  all  the  difference.  I  remember  the 
last  examination  when  Professor  Pierce  in  presence  of 
a  committee  examined  us,  and  I  was  required,  according 
to  the  cruel  custom  of  the  times,  to  work  out  a  problem 
on  the  blackboard.  I  had  not  opened  my  algebra  for  six 
months,  having  devoted  to  rifle-shooting  the  time  which 
I  was  expected  to  devote  to  mathematics.  A  problem 
was  proposed.  I  said  ' Don't  know  it,  sir.7  Professor 
Pierce  with  great  kindness  then  proposed  another,  to 
which  I  replied  '  I  cannot  do  it,  sir.'  He  then  tried  a 
third.  *  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  sir.'  '  Mr. 
Park  man,  you  may  go.'  ? 

But  Parkman's  standing  must  not  be  judged  en 
tirely  by  his  jocose  frankness  as  to  his  failure  in 
mathematics.  In  the  first  term  of  the  sophomore 
year  he  received  a  detur,  a  testimonial  to  deserv 
ing  students  "pro  insigni  in  studiis  diligentia"  In 
the  second  term  of  this  year  he  was  among  the  first 
eight;  and  at  the  exhibition  he  had  doubtless  a 
congenial  topic  in  an  English  version  of  the  "  Speech 
of  an  Insurgent  Plebeian  "  from  Machiavelli's  history 
of  Florence.  His  diaries  also  show  with  what  care 
he  was  training  himself  in  composition,  in  phrase 
ology,  even  in  punctuation.  By  their  simplicity, 
vigor  and  realism  they  rise  considerably  above  the 
usual  level  of  college  productions.  The  next  year 
he  spoke  again,  his  Dissertation  being  on  the  subject 
"Is  a  man  in  advance  of  his  age  fitted  for  his  age."1 
His  memory  in  his  college  days  was  not  good,  —  a 

1  Wheelwright. 


78  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

fact  most  interesting  in  view  of  the  remarkable 
memory  he  developed  later  under  the  pressure  of 
necessity. 

But  his  practice  in  composition  was  not  limited 
to  the  writing  of  academic  themes ;  he  made  some 
mark  likewise  as  a  speaker  and  lecturer  in  the 
literary  societies  of  the  college.  On  one  occasion 
he  delivered  as  a  lecture  "a  witty  production,  hav 
ing  for  its  subject  '  The  Puritans,'  wherein  he  gave 
us  in  a  very  original  and  humorous  style  the  front, 
flank,  and  rear  of  their  offending."  1 

He  often  spoke  in  debates,  once  on  the  question 
"  Whether  the  Republic  of  the  United  States  is  likely 
to  continue."  It  is  not  known  which  side  he  de 
fended.  His  contemporaries  described  him  as  a 
trenchant  and  forcible  speaker;  as  one,  indeed,  who 
by  the  strength  of  his  expressions  and  the  vehemence 
of  his  manner,  seemed  ready  to  "knock  his  oppon 
ents  down."  His  choice  of  topics,  both  in  conver 
sation  and  voluntary  literary  contributions,  "even 
then  showed  symptoms  of  '  Injuns '  on  the  brain. 
His  tales  of  border  life,  wampum,  scalps,  and  birch- 
bark  were  unsurpassed  by  anything  in  Cooper." 2 
He  graduated  among  the  first  twenty  of  his  class, 
having  attained  "  high  distinction "  in  the  depart 
ment  of  history. 

Parkman's    record    in    school    and    college   gives 

1  Report  of  the  Secretary  of  the  "  Institute  of  1770,"  quoted  by 
Mr.  Wheelwright. 

2  Horatio  J.  Perry's  Reminiscences. 


PREPARATION  79 

no  evidence  of  genius  in  the  proper  sense  of  the 
word.  While  possessing  more  than  the  average 
ability  in  certain  lines,  he  developed  himself  by 
long  years  of  patient  labor  in  a  chosen  field.  The 
nature  of  his  talents  was  unmistakable ;  but  the 
extent  of  his  subsequent  success  was  apparently  not 
anticipated  even  by  his  most  intimate  friends.  On 
the  other  hand,  neither  did  his  achievements  sur 
prise  his  classmates.  Professor  Child,  who  was  two 
or  three  years  behind  him,  gave  me  what  seems  a 
very  just  report  in  saying  that  "  Mr.  Parkman's 
reputation  in  college  spread  downwards  as  a  bright 
and  original  man."  The  shrewd  grandmother  of  one 
of  his  classmates,  whom  he  visited,  said  she  con 
sidered  him  "  a  young  man  of  remarkably  quick 
parts  and  very  correct." 

His  study  of  the  law  was  another  happy  extension 
of  education  in  the  line  of  individual  needs.  Dr. 
Parkman,  not  approving  of  the  literary  and  histori 
cal  ambition  of  his  son,  naturally  wished  him  to 
follow  one  of  the  liberal  professions,  and  as  the 
young  man  had  no  taste  for  either  medicine  or 
theology,  he  entered  the  Harvard  Law  School  on 
graduating  from  college.  The  decision  was  quite 
acceptable  to  him,  for  he  felt  that  the  study  of  the 
law  offered  a  mental  training  valuable  to  any  man, 
and  elements  of  knowledge  especially  useful  to  an 
historian.  This  course  helped  him  in  large  ways, 
leading  him  to  consider  the  rights  of  nations,  the 
organization  of  governments,  the  principles  and 


80  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

tendencies  of  national  growth.  Such  a  study  of 
statesmanship  was  in  fact  necessary  to  one  who 
would  appreciate  the  opposing  feudal  and  demo 
cratic  systems  of  colonization  on  this  continent.  It 
had,  moreover,  a  happy  influence  over  his  mental 
growth  in  cultivating  the  judicial  spirit,  —  a  much- 
needed  restraint  upon  so  impetuous  a  temperament, 
and  a  balance  for  a  constitutional  tendency  to  pre 
judice  in  certain  matters.  But  the  law  was  not 
allowed  to  interfere  with  his  literary  projects. 

"  Here  (writing  in  the  Harvard  Law  School),  while 
following  the  prescribed  courses  at  a  quiet  pace,  I  en 
tered  in  earnest  on  two  other  courses,  one  of  general 
history,  the  other  of  Indian  history  and  ethnology,  and 
at  the  same  time  studied  diligently  the  models  of  Eng 
lish  style,  which  various  pursuits  were  far  from  excluding 
the  pleasures  of  society."  I 

He  received  his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Laws  in 
1846,  but  although  fully  qualified  to  enter  the  bar, 
he  never  did  so.  A  question  may  be  raised  as  to 
whether  he  ever  intended  to  practise.  There  is 
some  evidence  that  he  did  in  the  few  letters  re 
ferring  to  this  project.  He  wrote  to  a  classmate 2 
in  July,  1845 :  "I  shall  live  in  town  (Boston) 
and  come  out  (to  Cambridge)  every  day,  intending 
to  study  law  in  earnest,  which  I  have  not  done, 
and  did  not  mean  to  do  this  last  year."  Again 
in  September,  1846,  at  the  close  of  his  Oregon 

1  Parkman's  autobiographic  letter  to  Mr.  Brimmer. 

2  George  S.  Hale. 


PREPARATION  81 

Trail  trip,  he  showed  respect  for  his  father's  wishes 
by  an  intention  to  do  something  in  this  direction: 
"  The  law  has  certain  claims  on  me  also,  which  will 
be  fully  answered  now  that  I  have  returned  from 
my  last  journey — the  last  I  suppose  it  will  be  for 
the  present,  though  not  so  if  I  consulted  my  inclina 
tion  only."  Both  father  and  son  still  aimed  at  the 
law  as  late  as  1847,  but  the  pursuit  of  it  was  inter 
rupted  by  Parkman's  ill  health  and  poor  sight ;  and 
probably  he  soon  dismissed  the  plan  entirely.  Dr. 
Parkman,  though  never  in  sympathy  with  his  son's 
literary  ambition,  was  always  indulgent,  generous, 
and  helpful.  In  a  kindly  letter  of  August  7,  1847, 
he  appreciates  Francis's  first  success  as  a  writer,  and 
at  the  same  time  reflects  probably  a  mutual  under 
standing  that  the  practice  of  law  was  only  deferred. 
After  describing  some  civilities  shown  to  Eliot  Park 
man  as  the  brother  of  the  author  of  the  "  Oregon 
Trail "  papers,  which  were  then  appearing  in  the 
"  Knickerbocker,"  he  goes  on  to  say : 

"I  confess,  my  dear  Frank,  I  was  much  gratified  by 
this ;  but  I  should  not  be  studious  to  write  it  out  at 
length,  did  I  not  feel  that  under  your  trials  and  inability 
to  do  as  much  as  you  desire,  you  are  entitled  to  know, 
that  what  you  have  done,  and  still  can  do,  is  fully  appre 
ciated.  It  is  a  consolation,  when  some  of  our  plans  are 
interrupted,  to  know  that  others  have  so  well  succeeded. 
And  I  congratulate  you  in  having  accomplished  so  much, 
and  so  successfully,  amidst  great  discouragements." 


82  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

It  is  clear  from  Parkman's  own  statements  and  his 
career  that  the  law  never  had,  and  never  could  have, 
but  a  secondary  place  in  his  plans. 

In  assuming  so  early  the  direction  of  his  own 
education  Parkman  was  a  self-made  scholar  to  an 
unusual  degree,  despite  his  regular  graduation  from 
Harvard.  With  many  a  student  such  conduct  would 
have  endangered  one  of  the  most  important  aims 
of  education,  —  the  acquisition  of  methodical  habits. 
But  this  student  was  saved  by  his  centralizing  am 
bition  and  his  native  earnestness  and  thoroughness. 


CHAPTER  V 

PAKKMAN'S  study  of  man  began  at  an  early  age 
and  steadily  grew  in  attraction  and  importance  for 
him  to  the  end  of  his  life.  It  embraced  ethnology, 
as  far  as  that  science  was  then  developed,  and  the 
personal  observation  of  the  character  and  conduct 
of  individual  men. 

His  opportunities  for  studying  ethnology  while 
at  college  were  very  limited.  The  subject,  at  that 
time  hardly  more  than  named,  had  not  yet  grown 
into  the  modern  complex  science  of  races.  Harvard 
then  offered  neither  any  course  of  instruction,  nor 
books  of  much  value,  nor  even  the  advice  and  en 
couragement  of  any  professor  having  a  special  knowl 
edge  of  the  matter.  In  view  of  this  deficiency 
Parkman  used  the  term  in  a  general  sense,  when 
he  said  in  his  autobiographic  letter  of  1886 l  that 
while  at  the  Law  School,  1844-46,  he  pursued  a 
course  of  "  Indian  history  and  ethnology."  He  prob 
ably  followed  such  an  independent  course  of  reading 
as  was  within  his  reach  at  the  time ;  and  judging  by 
the  books  he  took  from  the  college  library,  this 
course  was  more  an  historical  study  of  the  life,  man- 

1  To  his  friend  the  late  Hon.  Martin  Brimmer. 


84'  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

ners,  and  customs  of  North  American  Indians  than 
any  attempt  at  a  scientific  understanding  of  races 
and  the  growth  of  civilizations.  It  is  probable  that 
he  was  then  collecting  the  materials  used  in  the 
introduction  to  "  The  Jesuits  in  North  America," 
and  in  numerous  notes  in  other  volumes.  He  must 
have  been  one  of  the  earliest  to  welcome  the  rapid 
development  of  ethnology  that  took  place  in  the 
decade  from  1850  to  1860.  In  "  Vassall  Morton,"1 
written  in  1856,  he  thus  recorded  the  hero's  awaken 
ing  to  the  larger  interest  in  this  science  : 

" Thierry's  'Norman  Conquest7  had  fallen  into  his 
hands  soon  after  he  entered  college.  The  whole  de 
lighted  him ;  but  he  read  and  re-read  the  opening  chapters, 
which  exhibit  the  movements  of  the  various  races  in 
their  occupancy  of  the  west  of  Europe.  This  first  gave 
him  an  impulse  towards  ethnological  inquiries.  He  soon 
began  to  find  an  absorbing  interest  in  tracing  the  dis 
tinctions,  moral,  intellectual,  and  physical,  of  different 
races,  as  shown  in  their  history,  their  mythologies,  their 
languages,  their  legends,  their  primitive  art,  literature, 
and  way  of  life.  The  idea  grew  upon  him  of  devoting  his 
life  to  such  studies." 

It  is  quite  possible  that  Parkman  here  revealed  his 
own  experience  and  conceptions  while  in  college ; 
but  if  he  thus  early  recognized  the  weightier  topics 
included  in  ethnology  as  essential  to  his  equipment 
as  historian,  it  is  somewhat  surprising  to  find  so  little 

1  Page  37. 


PREPARATION  85 

allusion  to  them  in  his  diaries,  and  so  few  philosophi 
cal  considerations  in  his  books. 

As  we  shall  consider  later  his  aversion  for  philo 
sophizing,  we  must  content  ourselves  at  present  with 
some  further  extracts  from  his  diaries,  showing  the 
natural  bent  of  his  mind  and  the  range  of  his  obser 
vations.  Here  was  a  budding  historian  full  of  intelli 
gence,  self-confidence,  and  independence,  making  his 
first  journey  in  the  great  world  through  countries 
offering  the  greatest  range  of  interests  in  life,  art,  and 
history.  Yet  his  diaries  and  letters  are  singularly 
free  from  sophomoric  wisdom ;  —  they  reveal  very 
little  concern  for  the  deeper  lessons  of  human  life,  or 
for  the  broader  interests  of  ethnology  and  history. 
The  passages  having  any  breadth  of  view  in  the 
study  and  comparison  of  races  and  civilizations  are  so 
few  that  we  can  give  nearly  all  of  them.  In  the 
mountains  of  Sicily  for  example,  he  came  upon  this 
scene  : 

"  It  was  a  dark  and  gloomy  day.  Down  in  the  bottom 
of  the  valley  a  herd  of  oxen  were  grazing  —  there  was  a 
contadino's  hut  of  reeds  on  one  of  the  abrupt  hills  near  by. 
It  was  like  the  lodge  of  an  Indian  —  the  cattle  were  like 
a  herd  of  buffalo ;  I  could  have  thought  myself  on  the 
prairies.  But  as  we  passed  by  the  herd,  there  stood  the 
herdsman  in  his  shaggy  breeches  of  goatskin,  leaning  on 
his  staff,  gazing  at  us  through  his  tangled  hair  and  un 
shorn  beard.  His  savage  dogs,  wild  as  himself,  growled 
loudly  as  we  rode  by.  The  American  frontier  could  show 
no  such  a  group." 


86  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

At  Rome  he  thus  contrasted  Americans  with 
Englishmen  : 

"  Yesterday  was  the  22d  of  February  —  the  birthday  of 
Washington.  The  Americans  here  must  needs  get  up  a 
dinner,  with  speeches,  toasts,  etc.  It  was  like  a  visit 
home.  There  they  sat,  slight,  rather  pale  and  thin  men, 
not  like  beef-fed  and  ruddy  Englishmen  :  very  quiet  and 
apparently  timid  ;  speaking  low  to  the  waiters  instead  of 
roaring  in  the  imperative  tone  of  John  Bull.  There  was 
not  a  shadow  of  that  boisterous  and  haughty  confidence  of 
manner  that  you  see  among  Englishmen  —  in  fact  most 
of  them  seemed  a  little  green." 

Another  passage  in  the  same  vein  is  not  without 
interest,  in  view  of  his  later  critical  attitude  towards 
his  own  countrymen : 

"There  are  numbers  of  American  artists  here,  some  of 
them  fine  fellows.  In  fact,  it  is  some  consolation  after 
looking  at  the  thin  faces,  narrow  shoulders,  and  awkward 
attitudes  of  the  '  Yankees,'  to  remember  that  in  genius, 
enterprise,  and  courage  —  nay  in  bodily  strength,  they 
are  a  full  match  for  the  sneering  Englishman.  Would 
that  they  bore  themselves  more  boldly  and  confidently. 
But  a  time  will  come  when  they  may  meet  Europeans  on 
an  equal  footing." 

At  Basle  he  wrote : 

"Here  in  Basle  you  find  none  of  the  palaces  and  none 
of  the  dirt  of  an  Italian  city.  No  soldiers,  except  those 
of  the  garrison  of  the  citadel  and  of  the  gendarmerie  ;  no 
beggars  ;  no  spies  in  the  cafes  ;  no  vexatious  question- 


PREPARATION  87 

ings  of  suspicious  officials  ;  no  anxious  scrutiny  into 
passports,  or  rummagings  of  baggage.  The  people  walk 
about  in  the  quiet  streets  with  solemnity  on  their  faces, 
and  pipes  in  their  mouths." 

At  Milan: 

"  Civility  is  almost  universal  among  these  Italians  — 
farther  south  it  is  manifested  in  gesticulations,  takings-off 
of  the  hat,  bowings,  and  reiterated  exclamations  of  •  pad 
rone,  7  which  is  equivalent  to  'your  servant,  sir.7  Here 
it  is  shown  rather  in  deeds  than  in  words  —  thank  a  man 
for  any  favor,  —  he  does  not  scrape  and  nourish,  and  say 
padrone;  he  only  smiles  quietly  and  replies  '  niente  fatto.'  " 

An  entry  at  Piacenza  is  exceptional  for  him  in  the 
range  of  interests  touched  upon : 

"Here  again  the  striking  difference  between  the  towns 
of  Northern  and  Southern  Italy  was  manifested.  The 
people  looked  as  grave  and  solemn  as  the  brick  fronts  of 
the  palaces  and  churches.  The  town  was  just  bestirring 
itself.  Well-dressed  men  were  thronging  to  the  cafes 
for  breakfast  —  the  shops  were  being  opened,  and  the 
market  people  coming  in  with  their  produce.  Tall  con- 
tadini  were  driving  flocks  of  goats  about  the  street,  stop 
ping  and  milking  one  into  a  little  tin  measure,  whenever 
some  housekeeper  or  the  servant  of  some  cafe  came  out  to 
demand  'latte  fresco.7  There  was  an  amusing  concourse 
of  market  people  in  the  public  piazza,  before  the  lofty 
front  of  the  old  government  palace.  Cheeses,  meat, 
butter,  eggs,  and  piles  of  live  hens,  tied  neck  and  heels 
as  you  see  them  in  Canada,  were  spread  in  every  direc 
tion  over  the  pavement,  surrounded  by  sellers  and  pur- 


88  A  LIFE  OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

chasers,  both  apparently  half  asleep.  At  a  little  distance 
were  two  long  lines  of  women  and  men,  each  with  a  basket 
of  eggs  in  hand,  standing  immovable  with  an  expression 
of  patient  resignation,  waiting  for  a  purchaser.  The 
men  were  little  shrivelled  farmers,  in  breeches  and  broad 
hats,  with  staffs  in  their  hands,  and  dickeys  standing  up 
erect,  like  diminutive  Englishmen.  High  above  this 
motley  swarm  of  helpless  humanity  rose  the  statue  of 
some  great  lord  of  the  Farnese  family,  seated  on  horse 
back,  holding  his  truncheon  of  command,  as  if  at  the 
head  of  an  army,  and  looking  as  if  one  act  of  his  single 
will,  or  one  movement  of  his  armed  hand,  would  be 
enough  to  annihilate  the  whole  swarm  of  poor  devils 
below  him." 

He  thus  contrasted  Paris  and  London,  in  his  own 
graphic  way,  by  stating  without  comment  facts  that 
present  the  philosophy  of  the  situation  : 

"When  I  got  to  London,  I  thought  I  had  been  there 
before.  There  in  flesh  and  blood,  was  the  whole  host  of 
characters  that  figure  in  Pickwick.  Every  species  of 
cockney  was  abroad  in  the  dark  and  dingy  looking  streets, 
all  walking  with  their  heads  stuck  forward,  their  noses 
turned  up,  their  chins  pointing  down,  their  knee  joints 
shaking,  as  they  shuffled  along  with  a  gait  perfectly 
ludicrous,  but  indescribable.  The  hackney  coachmen 
and  cabmen,  with  their  peculiar  phraseology,  the  walk 
ing  advertisements  in  the  shape  of  a  boy  completely  hid 
den  between  two  placards,  and  a  hundred  others  seemed 
so  many  incarnations  of  Dickens'  characters.  A  strange 
contrast  to  Paris !  The  cities  are  no  more  alike  than  the 
'  dining  rooms  '  of  London,  and  the  elegant  restaurant 


PREPARATION  89 

of  Paris  —  the  one  being  a  quiet  dingy  establishment 
where  each  guest  is  put  into  a  box,  and  supplied  with 
porter,  beef,  potatoes,  and  plum  pudding.  Eed  faced  old 
gentlemen  of  three  hundredweight  mix  their  '  brandy 
go7  and  read  the  '  Times.'  In  Paris,  the  tables  are  set  in 
elegant  galleries  and  saloons  and  among  the  trees  and 
flowers  of  a  garden,  and  [here  ?]  resort  coats  cut  by  the 
first  tailors  and  bonnets  of  the  latest  mode,  whose  occu 
pants  regale  their  delicate  tastes  on  the  lightest  and  most 
delicious  viands.  The  waiters  spring  from  table  to  table 
as  noiselessly  as  shadows,  prompt  at  the  slightest  sign; 
a  lady,  elegantly  attired,  sits  within  an  arbor  to  preside 
over  the  whole.  Dine  at  these  places  —  then  go  to  a 
London  'dining  room' — swill  porter  and  devour  roast 
beef ! " 

His  only  reference  to  the  effects  of  environment 
concern  not  a  race  or  a  class,  but  two  individuals. 
The  first  is  an  English  sailor  who  had  lived  many 
years  in  Sicily,  —  "  the  stubborn  English  temper  was 
well  nigh  melted  away  with  his  long  sojourn  among 
the  Gentiles."  At  home  in  1845  he  found  a  subject 
that  called  forth  an  exceptional  amount  of  reflection : 

"  Where  in  America  is  to  be  found  that  spirit  of  sport 
and  bluff  hearty  enjoyment  that  is  seen  in  English 
country  gentlemen  and  others  ?  Business  here  absorbs 
everything,  and  renders  people  incapable  of  every  other 
pleasure.  Officers  of  the  army  and  navy  are  sometimes 
an  exception.  There  is  an  old  retired  navj-  surgeon  at 
Medford,  who  lives  with  his  dogs  and  his  gun,  like  an 
English  Squire,  enjoying  himself  in  the  same  hearty 
manner.  Business,  too,  swallows  much  that  is  noble. 


90  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

The  somewhat  chivalrous  sentiments,  the  reference  of  all 
things  to  the  standard  of  a  gentleman's  honor,  a  certain 
nobleness  (though  it  may  be  joined  with  debauchery  and 
blackguardism)  is  found  among  officers  of  armies.  Our 
business  men,  on  the  other  hand,  have  narrowed  away  all 
this.  Thoughts  bent  on  practical  gains  are  not  pleasant 
to  contemplate,  no  matter  how  much  virtue  may  accom 
pany  them." 

Turning  now  from  the  philosophical  division  of 
ethnology,  we  find  that  Parkman  was  a  much  closer 
student  of  the  more  picturesque  division,  —  life,  man 
ners,  actions.  On  landing  at  Gibraltar  he  plunged 
with  avidity  into  this  study,  and  with  rare  vividness 
and  vigor  gave  his  first  impressions  of  European 
civilization,  gained  from  a  visit  to  Algeciras. 

"  The  middy  and  I  passed  the  British  line  in  a  few 
moments,  and  found  ourselves  on  genuine  Spanish  ground. 
Dirty  scoundrels  of  soldiers,  with  rusty  firelocks  were 
lolling  about  some  huts  by  way  of  guard.  A  long  train  of 
donkeys  approached,  each  hidden  under  a  pair  of  paniers 
full  of  charcoal.  They  all  stopped  before  the  guard-house 
where  every  panier  was  emptied,  to  see  that  no  liquor  was 
smuggled  across  the  line.  I  was  admiring  the  vigilance 
of  the  ragamuffin  soldiery  when  we  beheld  a  man  mounted 
on  a  splendid  horse  advancing  along  the  beach  toward  us. 
He  was  a  noble-looking  fellow,  arrayed  in  a  richly 
embroidered  dress;  wrapped  in  the  huge  Spanish  cloak  ; 
his  horse's  head,  mane,  and  flanks  were  hung  with  tassels 
and  spangled.  He  carried  a  carbine  slung  on  his  saddle 
behind  him.  He  was  a  contrabandista  —  one  who  prac 
tised  smuggling  in  open  defiance  of  the  law.  A  moment 


PREPARATION"  91 

after,  lie  was  joking  and  laughing  with  the  officers  at  the 
guard-house. 

"  After  three  or  four  hours'  ride,  we  approached  the 
town  where  more  Spanish  soldiers  were  lounging  in  a 
group  hy  the  roadside.  '  Carracho!  los  Ingleses  !'  With 
that  they  set  a  dog  on  us ;  finding  this  of  no  avail,  they 
blew  their  trumpets  and  shouted  to  scare  our  horses.  We 
turned  around,  and  sat  laughing  at  them.  '  Carracho  ! 
Carracho !  '  and  one  fellow  not  satisfied  with  this  Spanish 
insult,  made  shift  to  exclaim  (  Go  to  Hell ! '  Whereupon 
the  whole  took  up  the  cry  in  chorus.  As  we  rode  through 
the  narrow  streets,  similar  maledictions  were  showered 
upon  us.  Boys  followed  us,  first  begging  a  cuarto,  and 
then  shouting  Carracho.  It  is  a  beautiful  town  —  the 
houses  white  as  snow,  with  bright  green  lattices  and 
porticos,  the  streets  paved  with  square  hewn  stone  and 
without  sidewalks.  But  the  noblest  sight  was  the  Plaza, 
or  public  square,  round  which  stand  the  public  buildings. 
It  was  paved  with  coarse  marble ;  a  large  and  beautiful 
column  rose  in  the  centre,  in  the  midst  oE  a  space  walled 
in  from  the  public.  All  around,  by  the  columns  of  the 
cathedral,  about  the  porches  of  the  houses,  were  stalls  of 
merchants ;  and  beggars  in  crowds  roaring  in  the  name  of 
the  Virgin  for  charity.  We  left  this  hospitable  town 
behind,  galloped  at  full  speed  round  the  beach,  passing 
lepers  by  the  wayside,  soldiers,  donkeys,  black-eyed 
women,  hedges  of  aloes,  and  groves  of  oranges,  bare  sun 
burnt  mountains,  each  crowned  with  its  Moorish  tower,  — 
and  long  before  the  evening  gun  was  fired  were  within  the 
fortifications  again. 

<( .  .  .  Here  I  had  a  specimen  of  every  nation  on  earth, 
it  seemed,  around  me.  A  dozen  Moors  with  white  turbans 


92  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAtf 

and  slippered  feet  lolled  one  side;  Jews  by  couples  in 
their  gabardines;  the  Spanish  gentleman  in  his  black 
cloak  and  sombrero  —  the  Spanish  laborer  with  his  red  cap 
hanging  on  one  side  of  his  head  —  the  Spanish  blackguard 
in  bespangled  tights  and  embroidered  jacket.  On  benches 
among  the  trees  officers  and  soldiers  carried  on  successful 
love  suits ;  on  the  parade  [ground]  below  English  captains 
were  showing  forth  good  horsemanship  to  the  best  advan 
tage.  The  red  coats  of  soldiers  appeared  everywhere 
among  the  trees,  and  in  the  crowd  below.  There  were 
women  in  cloaks  of  red  and  black  —  ladies  with  the  man 
tilla  and  followed  by  the  duenna  —  no  needless  precaution 
—  and  the  ten  thousand  more  soldiers  and  civilians  bond 
and  free,  man  and  woman  and  child.  Not  the  least  singu 
lar  of  the  group  were  the  little  black  slaves  belonging  to 
the  Moors,  who  wrere  arrayed  in  a  very  splendid  and  out 
landish  attire ;  following  after  their  masters  like  dogs. 
Bands  were  stationed  on  the  parade,  and  around  a  summer 
house  among  the  trees.  The  evening  gun  dissolved  the 
pageant  —  God  Save  the  Queen  rose  on  the  air;  the  crowd 
poured  through  the  gates  into  the  town." 

On  his  tour  about  Sicily  he  had  a  guide,  Luigi,  of 
artistic,  antiquarian,  and  numismatic  tastes.  As  the 
man  seemed  to  know  everybody  of  note  along  the 
way,  Parkman  had  many  opportunities  for  visiting 
the  homes  of  many  classes  of  people,  and  he  never 
neglected  such  a  chance  for  studying  domestic  life. 
At  an  inn  at  Sciacca  he  wrote  : 

"  The  baron  brought  us  a  melon  and  some  fine  nuts  as 
a  present,  which  he  did  not  disdain  to  place  on  the  table 
himself.  While  our  mules  were  saddling  I  went  with 


PREPARATION  93 

Luigi  to  see  the  domestic  establishment  of  his  friend.  It 
was  a  large  and  reasonably  clean  house  —  some  women 
were  spinning  in  a  spacious  outer  room,  where  some  hens 
were  cackling  about  the  floor.  The  baroness  received  me 
in  the  inner  room  —  the  bedroom.  She  was  a  stout,  rosy 
damsel,  with  good  physical  womanhood  about  her,  and 
much  beauty,  though  not  over  refined.  She  blushed,  as 
though  not  used  to  entertaining  strangers.  Five  or  six 
holy  pictures,  and  little  wax  images  with  lamps  burning 
before  them  were  about  the  room.  Luigi  took  down  one 
of  the  pictures  of  Santa  Maria,  —  the  patroness  of  Sciacca, 
which  he  piously  kissed  and  put  into  his  hip  pocket, 
observing  that  now  we  should  have  good  weather  till  we 
got  to  Palermo.  The  baroness  got  me  another,  by  way  of 
making  assurance  doubly  sure.  Thus  armed  against  fate 
we  rode  away." 

Here  is  a  passage  that  reflects  well  the  distinctness 
of  his  impressions,  and  the  occasional  vigor  of  his 
language : 

"  The  country  inns  of  Sicily  are  notorious.  This  one  of 
Castel  Termini  was  a  fair  sample,  though  in  point  of  dirt, 
fleas,  etc.,  it  fell  far  short  of  some  others.  A  Sicilian 
albergo  is  an  ancient  gloomy  building  of  stone,  like  all  the 
rest;  they  usually  have  a  little  sign,  or  at  least  a  branch 
of  a  tree  stuck  at  the  door,  by  the  way  of  indicating  their 
public  character;  but  to  look  up  at  their  half-decayed 
walls,  and  the  small  square  windows  thinly  distributed 
over  the  front,  you  would  take  them  for  dungeons.  Enter, 
and  you  stumble  down  a  stone  step  into  the  kitchen  —  a 
spacious  cavern,  dark  as  Tartarus,  with  a  floor  of  earth, 
and  seldom  any  windows.  Water  jars,  harness,  and  out- 


94  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

landish  looking  utensils  are  scattered  about.  Groups  of 
idlers  are  crouching  in  the  corner  over  a  brazier  of  char 
coal,  and  crucifixes  and  images  with  little  lamps  burning 
before  them  are  hung  about  the  walls.  Close  adjoining 
are  large  stone  apartments  for  mules  and  asses,  who  have 
usually  separate  accommodations  in  the  albergos,  though  in 
the  private  house  a  corner  of  the  family  room,  usually  the 
cleanest,  is  assigned  them.  Ask  for  '  apartamenti,'  and  a 
woman  leads  you  up  a  broken  flight  of  stone  steps  to  a 
room  floored  with  a  kind  of  cement.  There  is  one  window 
—  one  strongly  secured  door  —  a  holy  picture  on  the  wall, 
and  a  bed  full  of  fleas.  You  can  seldom  get  anything  to 
eat  unless  it  be  macaroni.  This  is  an  inn  of  the  interior. 
The  others  are  better.  I  speak  from  the  experience  of 
three  nights,  and  I  solemnly  aver  that  the  picture  is  not 
over-colored.  I  have  forgotten  a  prominent  feature  of  the 
establishment  —  the  beggars.  A  decrepit  beast,  covered 
with  dirt,  unshaven,  with  bleared,  gummy  eyes,  and 
covered  all  but  the  face  in  a  rotten  capote,  thrusts  a  rosary 
into  your  face,  and  whines  out  of  his  withered  throat  a 
petition  for  alms.  All  about  the  door  stand  groups  of 
idlers,  enveloped  in  the  same  capotes,  staring  and  convers 
ing  listlessly.  This  capote  covered  the  face  exactly  like 
the  hoods  of  mail  you  see  in  the  old  editions  of  Tasso  and 
Ariosto  —  but  the  face  of  a  Sicilian  is  anything  but  mar 
tial  or  knightly. " 

Apropos  of  Messina  we  find  this  vivid  sketch : 

"I  took  my  station  outside  one  of  the  gates  in  the  rear 
of  the  city,  to  look  at  the  scum  of  humanity  that  came 
pouring  out.  All  was  filth,  and  age,  and  ruin  —  the  walls, 
the  tall  gateway,  with  its  images  and  inscriptions,  the 


PREPARATION  95 

hovels  at  the  top  of  the  wall  and  in  the  ancient  suburb,  all 
seemed  crumbling  to  decay.  The  orange  and  lemon 
groves  in  the  ditch  of  the  fortification  were  dingy  and 
dirty  —  but  away  in  the  distance  appeared  the  summit  of 
the  mountains  almost  as  wild  and  beautiful  as  our  moun 
tains  of  ISTew  England.  I  thought  of  them,  and  in  the 
revival  of  old  feelings,  half  wished  myself  at  home.  I 
soon  forgot,  however,  all  but  what  was  before  my  eyes,  in 
watching  the  motley  array  that  passed  by  me.  Men  and 
women  literally  hung  with  rags,  half  hid  in  dirt,  hideous 
with  every  imaginable  species  of  deformity,  and  bearing 
on  their  persons  a  population  as  numerous  as  that  of 
Messina  itself — these  formed  the  bulk  of  the  throng. 
Priests,  with  their  black,  broad-brimmed  hats,  and  their 
long  robes,  fat  and  good-looking  men  —  were  the  next 
numerous  class.  They  draw  life  and  sustenance  from  these 
dregs  of  humanity  —  just  as  tall  pig-weed  nourishes  on  a 
dunghill.  Then  there  were  mustachioed  soldiers,  very  dif 
ferent  from  the  stately  and  sedate  soldiers  of  England. 
There  were  men  bearing  holy  pictures  and  images  — 
ladies  in  swarms,  whose  profession  was  stamped  on  their 
faces  —  musicians  with  a  troop  of  vagabonds  in  their  rear; 
all  around  the  gateway  were  the  tables  of  butchers,  fruit 
erers,  confectioners,  money  changers,  bootblacks,  and  a 
throng  of  dirty  men,  women,  and  children  —  shouts, 
yells,  and  a  universal  hubbub." 

Though  enjoying  many  sights  at  Naples,  he  wrote 
little  there  that  is  significant.  He  took  part  in  the 
carnival  at  Rome,  driving  with  Theodore  Parker  and 
his  wife.  The  King  and  his  courtiers  were  the  chief 
actors,  while  Parker  and  his  wife  seem  to  have  been 


96  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  chief  victims,  —  Parker  having  his  spectacles 
broken  and  Mrs.  Parker  receiving  a  hard  blow  on  the 
nose  from  sugarplums.  Parkman  visited  all  the 
objects  of  interest,  watched  the  scenes  of  the  streets 
and  markets,  saw  some  funeral  processions  and 
military  reviews,  studied  life  in  the  humblest  and 
most  wretched  quarters  of  the  city,  took  walks  in  the 
country  and  drank  his  bottle  of  Falernian  wine  with 
peasants  at  a  tavern  in  Baiae. 

This  account  of  his  visit  to  Virgil's  tomb  is  too 
characteristic  of  him  to  be  passed  by : 

"I  met  a  laughable  adventure  here.  Like  a  genuine 
tourist,  I  thought  I  would  take  away  a  memento  of  the 
poet,  and  seeing  a  bush  which  from  its  position  had 
escaped  the  violating  hand  of  former  travellers,  I  deter 
mined  to  get  a  branch  of  it.  The  tomb  stands  at  the 
edge  of  a  rock  about  two  hundred  feet  high  above  the 
street;  this  bush  was  on  the  side  of  the  cliff  just  outside 
an  opening  in  the  back  part  of  the  tomb.  There  was  a 
stout  iron  bar  to  hold  on  by  —  no  man  of  ordinary  nerve 
and  muscular  strength  would  have  the  slightest  cause  of 
apprehension.  So  I  told  the  cicerone  to  hold  my  coat, 
grasped  the  bar,  leaned  from  the  opening,  and  got  hold  of 
the  plant,  which  I  was  about  to  secure  when  I  heard  a 
simultaneous  shout  from  both  guides,  who  sprang  upon 
me  and  seized  me  fast.  I  looked  round  at  them.  Both 
were  pale  as  ghosts,  with  their  mouths  wide  open,  and 
eyes  staring  out  of  their  heads.  I  asked  them  what  the 
devil  was  the  matter  —  they  replied  by  seizing  me  by  the 
arms  and  shoulders  and  pulling  me  away  from  the  hole.  I 
got  free  from  them  by  a  sudden  effort,  but  they  sprang  at 


PREPARATION  97 

me  again,  and  began  to  roar  for  help.  <0h!  come  this 
way  Signore  !  Come  this  way;  you  must  not  go  there/  I 
was  a  good  deal  vexed,  hut  could  not  help  laughing  at 
being  mistaken  for  a  madman.  I  thought  I  would  try  a 
little  intimidation,  so  aimed  a  blow  with  my  fist  at  the 
nearest  fellow's  face.  They  dodged  off  a  moment,  but 
returned  to  the  charge  with  faces  doubly  earnest  and 
anxious  and  pinioned  me  from  behind.  '  Oh  !  Signore  ! ' 
they  said,  'we  don't  want  money;  only  come  up  with^ 
us  to  the  gate.'  I  saw  the  folly  of  contending  with  the 
idea  that  had  got  possession  of  them,  so  told  them  I  would 
go.  Thus  I  went  out  from  Virgil's  tomb  a  prisoner.  I 
thought  my  quiet  compliance  would  have  allayed  their 
fears  a  little  —  no  such  thing:  nothing  would  do  but  I 
must  mount  with  them  to  the  garden  gate  above.  Half 
way  up  appeared  a  gang  of  men  rushing  in  hot  haste  to 
secure  the  madman.  They  were  soon  about  me,  when,  con 
fiding  in  their  numbers,  they  loosened  my  arms.  I  was 
resolved  not  to  lose  my  relic  of  Virgil,  so  dispatched  a  boy 
to  pluck  a  leaf  from  the  door  of  the  tomb,  since  the  men 
would  on  no  account  suffer  me  to  go  myself.  I  got  this 
memento  of  my  adventure,  and  departed.  I  had  some 
little  suspicion  that  all  this  terror  of  my  guides  was 
counterfeited  in  order  to  give  them  a  chance  to  pick  my 
pockets  ;  but  all  my  money  was  safe." 

Here  are  two  scenes  of  the  kind  he  liked  to  sketch, 
the  first  at  an  inn  of  Cara : 

"In  the  corner  [of  the  public  room]  crouched  two  or 
three  old  crones,  like  living  skeletons.  An  unshaven 
countryman  sat  on  one  side  —  fat  and  silent  loungers  from 
the  town,  with  infant  moustache ;  shabby  dandies  in 

7 


98  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

cloaks,  children  and  dogs  crouching  together  on  the 
hearth.  At  a  little  distance  two  or  three  thin  visaged  and 
savage  looking  contadini  stood  erect  and  motionless  in  the 
glare  of  the  fire.  Our  guide  Giuseppe  sat  drinking  wine 
at  the  long  tables  ranged  around  the  barn-like  room.  He 
had  a  very  pretty  girl  to  wait  on  him,  who  would  come 
from  time  to  time  and  stoop  over  the  fire  so  as  to  show  to 
the  best  advantage  her  classic  features  and  the  enormous 
silver  pin  in  her  hair.  Hunt l  and  I  sat  telling  each 
other  college  stories  and  recalling  college  recollections  till 
the  people  had  withdrawn  from  the  room,  and  left  us 
almost  alone,  in  front  of  a  glowing  pile  of  half  consumed 
embers." 

At  Subiaco  he  wrote  : 

"  We  came  suddenly  upon  Subiaco.  It  stood  on  the 
top  of  a  detached  rocky  hill  among  the  mountains.  Goats, 
cattle,  trains  of  mules  and  asses,  women  with  jars  of  water 
on  their  heads,  old  woodmen  with  the  heavy  crooked  chop 
ping  knife  in  their  girdles,  and  a  bundle  of  fagots  on  their 
shoulders,  were  coming  down  the  different  pathways  from 
the  mountains  toward  the  gate  of  the  town,  for  it  was  near 
sunset.  The  town  was  already  in  shadow,  except  the 
castle  at  the  top. 

"  All  this  was  very  well :  get  within  the  gate  and  the 
scene  changed.  A  crowded  pile  of  high  and  crumbling 
stone  houses  —  streets  so  steep  that  a  horse  cannot  ascend 
them,  and  answering  the  purpose  of  a  common  sewer  for 
all  the  filth  of  the  inhabitants,  so  narrow,  too,  that  a  strip 
of  the  red  sky  could  scarce  be  seen  between  the  tottering 
roofs  —  here  was  Subiaco ;  and  not  Subiaco  alone,  but 

1  William  M.  Hunt,  the  artist. 


PREPARATION  99 

Italian  country  towns  in  general,  as  far  as  my  observation 
goes.  The  women,  with  water  jars,  were  gathered  around 
the  town  fountain,  more  were  seated  about  the  corners  in 
a  little  public  square  spinning.  More  still  were  kneeling, 
singing  vespers  in  the  church.  The  men  were  lounging 
about  in  red  breeches,  smoking  and  staring.'7 

Here  is  his  first  confession  of  the  charms  of  vaga 
bondizing  in  Europe,  at  Milan,  —  though  he  soon 
brought  himself  up  with  a  very  characteristic  return 
to  the  rugged  life  of  his  beloved  New  England  : 

"This  morning  when  the  whole  city  was  quiet,  the 
shops  shut  in  honor  of  Sunday,  the  people  issuing  from 
the  Cathedral,  gentlemen  walking  listlessly  about,  and 
porters  and  contadini  sitting  idle  at  the  edge  of  the  side 
walks,  there  was  a  group  of  gentlemen  taking  their  coffee 
under  awnings  in  front  of  each  of  the  cafes  in  the  piazza 
before  the  Cathedral.  This  vagabond  way  of  breakfasting 
and  seeing  the  world  at  the  same  time,  is  very  agreeable. 
There  is  no  place  where  you  can  be  more  independent  than 
in  one  of  these  cities  —  when  you  are  hungry  there  is 
always  a  restaurant  and  a  dinner  at  a  moment's  notice  — 
when  j^ou  are  thirsty  there  is  always  a  cafe  at  hand.  If 
you  are  sleepy,  your  room  awaits  you  —  a  dozen  sneaking 
waiters  are  ready  at  your  bidding,  and  glide  about  like 
shadows  to  do  what  you  may  require  in  hope  of  your 
shilling  when  you  go  away.  But  give  me  Ethan  Crawford 
or  even  Tom,  in  place  of  the  whole  race  of  waiters  and 
garQons." 

The  democratic  and  wholesome  atmosphere  of 
Switzerland  seems  to  have  pleased  him  as  much  as 
the  scenery: 


100  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

u  I  never  left  any  place  with  more  regret  than  these 
mountains  [about  Andeer].  Descending  into  the  wider 
valleys  of  the  Grisons,  the  scenery  was  not  less  magnifi 
cent,  though  of  a  different  character.  At  Coire,  the  capi 
tal  of  the  Canton,  I  was  reminded  that  I  was  no  longer  in 
Italy.  A  servant  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  in  the 
large  inn  there,  welcoming  each  guest  with  a  (  good  even 
ing/  and  ushering  him  into  a  large  low  wooden  apartment, 
where  some  thirty  men  and  women  were  smoking,  eating 
or  lounging  at  the  tables  and  benches.  Boys  stood  ready 
to  receive  hats  and  cloaks ;  and  waiters  attended  on  each 
new  comer  to  know  what  he  would  have.  All  was  ease, 
good  nature,  and  equality.  The  old  Germans  and  Swiss 
grunted  over  their  beer  pots,  and  puffed  at  their  pipes. 
The  young  ones  laughed  with  the  servant  girls.  A 
Frenchman  gulped  down  his  bowl  full  of  soup  —  sprang  to 
the  window  when  he  heard  the  postilion's  horn,  bounded 
back  to  finish  one  more  tumbler  of  wine,  and  then,  seizing 
his  cane,  dashed  out  in  hot  haste.  A  prim,  strutting  little 
German  student,  stalked  to  the  window  to  watch  him,  pipe 
in  hand  and  a  complacent  grin  on  his  face;  then  turned  to 
discourse  in  a  half  patronizing,  half  gallant  way  with  the 
girls.7' 

There  is  but  one  important  passage  concerning 
Paris,  the  place  in  all  Europe  that  most  concerned  his 
future  labors : 

"  I  have  been  a  fortnight  in  Paris  and  seen  it  as  well  as 
it  can  be  seen  in  a  fortnight.  Under  peculiarly  favorable 
circumstances,  too ;  for  it  was  the  great  season  of  balls 
and  gaieties,  and  I  had  a  guide  moreover  who  knows 
Paris  from  top  to  bottom  —  within  and  without.  I  like  to 


PREPARATION  101 

see  a  thing  done  thoroughly.  If  a  man  has  a  mind  to 
make  a  fool  or  a  vagabond  of  himself,  he  can  do  it  admir 
ably  in  Paris ;  whereof  I  have  seen  many  instances.  If  a 
man  has  a  mind  to  amuse  himself  there  is  no  place  like  it 
on  earth;  diversions  of  every  character,  form,  and  degree 
waiting  for  him  at  every  step ;  let  him  taste  them  —  then 
get  into  the  diligence  and  ride  away,  or  stay,  and  go  to 
the  devil.1' 

Paris  became  more  attractive  to  him  later  by  rea 
son  of  its  close  connection  with  his  labors  and  its 
innumerable  interests  to  any  student  of  life.  He 
thus  wrote  to  his  sister  Mary  in  1859  of  the  way  in 
which  he  spent  the  most  of  his  leisure  time  there,  — 
not  in  society,  galleries,  or  libraries,  but  in  studying 
street  life.  The  letter  is  characteristic  of  his  habit 
of  dismissing  the  subject  of  health  in  a  few  words ; 
one  would  never  suspect  it  was  written  in  a  period  of 
the  greatest  mental  and  physical  suffering. 

"I  am  a  little  less  lame.  I  get  on  well  enough.  The 
omnibuses  of  Paris — of  which  there  are  about  seven 
hundred  —  are  made  with  railings,  etc.,  in  such  a  way 
that,  with  a  little  science,  I  can  swing  myself  to  the  top 
with  the  arms  alone,  and  here  I  usually  spend  the  better 
part  of  the  day  smoking  cigarettes  and  surveying  the 
crowds  below.  I  have  formed  an  extensive  acquaintance 
among  omnibus  cads  and  the  like,  whom  I  find  to  be  first- 
rate  fellows  in  their  way  —  also  have  learned  pretty 
thoroughly  the  streets  of  Paris,  where  much  may  be  seen 
from  the  top  of  an  omnibus.  When  hungry  or  thirsty,  I 
descend  to  any  restaurant,  cafe,  or  '  buffet '  that  happens 
to  be  near,  whether  of  low  or  high  degree  if  only  clean. 


102  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

In  fair  weather  an  hour  or  two  may  always  be  spent  pleas 
antly  enough  between  three  and  five  o'clock,  in  the  open 
air  under  the  porches  of  the  cafes  011  the  boulevards,  where 
all  Paris  passes  by." 

We  may  close  these  extracts  concerning  his  study 
of  manners  and  customs  with  the  following  sketch  ; 
the  subject  could  hardly  fail  to  appeal  to  his  sense 
of  humor  after  his  experience  of  European  martial 
scenes. 

"  <  Cornwallis '  at  Brighton,   October  18,  1844.     I  was 
there    before  the   militia   had    gone  off.      Some  had   the 
large   skirted  coats  of  revolutionary    officers,   some   wore 
battered   helmets,    some   three-cornered  hats,    some  noth 
ing.      They  had  every  variety  of  weapon,   from  blunder 
buss  to  rusty  saw;   and   were  of  all   ages  and  sizes.     A 
more    ragamuffin   assemblage   I    never  saw.      '  Officers   to 
the  front,'  exclaimed   the    general    on    his    horse.       The 
long  line  of  ragamuffins  who  stood  leaning  on  their  rifles 
or  muskets  in  every  variety  of  outlandish  costume,  looked 
as  if  they  had  never  an  officer  among  them.     But  at  the 
word,   a  number  of  fellows   straddled  out  from  the  line, 
with  yellow  breeches  and  red  coats;  or  with  false  beards, 
and    dirty    shirts,    armed    with    axes,    swords,    or    guns. 
These  marched  up  to  the  front  and  faced  gravely  towards 
the  general.      '  Gentlemen  officers,'   he  began,  etc.      The 
address  over,  the  officers  withdrew,  and  the  music  struck 
up,  at   which   the  whole  line  of   ragamuffins    got   under 
way  and  marched  straggling  off  the  ground,  just  as  the 
sun  went  down." 

Parkman's  study  of  character  in  individual  men 
and  women  was  an  interest  second  only  to  his  lite- 


PREPARATION  103 

rary  labors.  It  not  only  gratified  an  inherited  taste 
and  faculty  for  reading  men,  but  also  formed  an 
important  element  of  his  preparation  as  historian. 
It  was,  besides,  the  chief  means  by  which  one  of  his 
reserved  nature  could  be  brought  into  intimate  con 
tact  with  humanity  outside  of  a  restricted  circle  of 
friends  and  relations ;  for  his  sympathies  were  not 
strong  and  broad  enough  by  themselves  to  make 
him  a  lover  of  all  men.  It  remained  throughout 
his  life  a  study  of  unflagging  interest,  being  furthered 
by  his  tastes,  faculties  and  opportunities.  For  his 
personal  traits  were  fortunate ;  he  attracted  men  by 
an  unfeigned  interest  in  them,  thus  inducing  them 
to  open  their  minds  to  him.  He  was  singularly  ready 
to  listen  to  others,  though  he  rarely  if  ever  opened 
his  own  reserved  nature  in  return  for  their  confi 
dences.  Then  his  social  propensities  saved  him  from 
becoming  a  recluse,  and  counteracted  the  danger  to 
manliness  that  lurks  in  the  study.  Again,  circum 
stances  brought  him  all  the  opportunities  he  could 
desire.  At  his  father's  hospitable  board  he  met 
many  men  of  distinction ;  at  college  he  was  always 
welcome  among  his  classmates  ;  he  had  a  wide  circle 
of  family  connections  and  friends  ;  he  was  a  member 
of  various  societies  and  clubs;  and  his  travels  at 
home  and  abroad  brought  him  in  contact  with  many 
national  types,  many  classes,  many  interesting  indi 
viduals.  His  maladies  often  necessitated  a  great 
deal  of  self-denial  as  to  society ;  but  he  continued  to 
the  last,  as  far  as  his  health  allowed,  to  follow  his 


104  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAN" 

social  inclinations,  saying  that  one  should  know  as 
many  people  as  possible.  Throughout  life  the  read 
ing  of  fiction  was  an  important  element  of  his  amuse 
ments,  while  historical  -researches  and  writing  de 
manded  a  continual  estimation  of  men  from  their 
words  and  actions ;  and  his  works  show  with  what 
care  he  conceived  and  executed  the  strong  outlines 
of  his  characters. 

Parkman's  skill  in  reading  men  came  largely  from 
persistent  and  careful  practice.  His  first  effort  in 
this  direction  was  another  happy  coincidence  of  boy 
ish  tastes  with  the  subsequent  needs  of  a  historian. 
When  about  twelve  years  of  age  he  with  some 
equally  youthful  companions  fitted  up  the  loft  of 
his  father's  unused  coach  house,  and  founded  "  The 
Star  Theatre."  The  boys  painted  their  own  scenery 
and  made  most  of  their  own  "  properties."  The 
name,  derived  from  the  eminence  of  every  member 
of  the  company,  was  duly  signified  by  a  tinsel  star 
on  a  strip  of  green  cambric  crossing  the  stage  above 
the  curtain.  Parkman  displayed  both  energy  and 
skill  in  this  organization,  —  as  mechanic  in  rigging 
up  the  curtain,  as  chemist  in  managing  the  colored 
lights  for  the  scene,  as  artist  wielding  the  whitewash 
brush,  and  finally  as  actor,  chiefly  in  women's  roles, 
for  which  he  is  said  to  have  been  well  fitted  by  the 
possession  of  a  high  voice ;  and  if  we  may  judge  by 
the  daguerreotype  of  him  as  a  young  man,  repro 
duced  in  this  volume,  he  must  have  had  unusual 
charms  of  face  and  person.  The  company  was  sue- 


PREPARATION  105 

cessful.  It  seems  to  have  given  a  performance 
nearly  every  Saturday  afternoon,  and  sometimes  on 
Wednesday  also,  during  several  months  of  1835-36, 
and  1836-37.  The  audience  consisted  mostly  of 
young  relatives  and  friends,  but  it  often  contained 
others  more  critical  and  mature,  and  now  and  then 
a  matron  accompanied  by  her  entire  school.  The 
first  season  opened  with  "  The  Dumb  Boy  of  Genoa," 
in  which  young  Parkman  distinguished  himself  in 
the  title  role,  played  altogether  in  pantomime.  Only 
a  small  part  of  the  repertory  can  now  be  recalled, 
but  it  included  "  The  Golden  Farmer,"  "  My  Fellow 
Clerk,"  and  "The  Chicken"  (translated  from  the 
French  by  F.  Lee),  also  Shakspere's  "  Taming  of 
the  Shrew,"  in  which  Parkman  played  Katharina. 
Here  is  the  bill  announcing  one  of  the  most  suc 
cessful  performances :  — 

Star  Theatre. 
BENEFIT  OF  MR.   F.  PARKMAN. 

On  Saturday,  May  7th,   will  be  performed  the 
celebrated  play  of 

Bombastes  Furioso. 

"  Whoever  dares  these  boots  displace 
Must  meet  Bombastes  face  to  face." 

Bombastes  (a  general)     .     .     .     .  J.  C.   Shaw. 

Artaxomines  (king  of  Eutophia)  .  C.  Shimmin. 

Fusbos  (Minister  of  State)  .     .     .  G.  Parkman. 

Distafina F.  Parkman. 

To  conclude  with  the  much  admired  play  of 


106  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAK 

King's  Bridge  Cottage. 

Mr.  Richardson S.  Eliot. 

Frederick J.  C.  Shaw. 

Percy  . C.  Shimmin. 

Valmore F.  Parkman. 

Cato W.  A.  Marston. 

Mary F.  Minot. 

Maj.  O'Bryan  (a  British  officer  in  disguise), 

G.  Parkman. 

Mr.   C.  F.  Shimmin  respectfully  announces  his 
benefit  for  Wednesday,  May  18th. 

F.  Minot,  Printer. 

Park  man's  Distafma  is  still  remembered  as  a 
charming  impersonation.  These  theatricals,  con 
tinued  for  a  considerable  length  of  time  and  evi 
dently  developed  with  much  study  and  pains  for 
schoolboys,  were  of  course  undertaken  solely  for 
amusement.  But  as  Parkman  entered  into  them 
with  the  thoroughness  and  zeal  that  he  brought  to 
everything  he  did,  they  probably  had  some  influence 
in  awakening  his  love  of  the  study  of  character  — 
just  as  his  boyhood  adventures  in  the  Middlesex 
Fells  cultivated  his  love  of  nature. 

His  diaries  contain  some  very  significant  bits  of 
appreciation  of  character.  They  show  this  study  to 
have  been  one  of  his  deepest  interests,  probably 
deeper  than  any  other  outside  of  history.  He  began 
to  record  his  observations  as  early  as  1842,  giving 
them  increasing  space  and  emphasis  until  they  be 
came  the  chief  element  of  his  note-books  in  1844-45. 


PREPARATION  107 

We  may  begin  our  extracts  with  the  following 
account  of  the  puppet  shows  of  Naples,  and  then  pass 
on  from  these  rough  sketches  of  strangers  to  his  more 
finished  portraits  of  familiar  acquaintances. 

"  I  went  to-night  to  the  teatro  Sebeto — an  establish 
ment  consisting  of  a  pit,  eight  boxes,  and  a  gallery  where 
none  but  men  sit.  The  piece  was  a  deep  tragedy,  full  of 
love,  jealousy,  and  murder,  dungeons,  trap-doors,  etc. 
Pulcinella  here  assumed  the  character  of  a  pilgrim.  He 
always  wears  a  black  vizard  which  covers  his  face  as  far  as 
the  end  of  his  nose,  leaving  the  lower  part  bare.  His 
entree,  which  was  in  the  midst  of  the  most  tragic  part, 
was  greeted  by  a  loud  laugh.  The  father  of  the  distressed 
lady  was  busy  in  bemoaning  his  afflictions  on  his  knees, 
with  hands  clasped.  Pulcinella  kneels  down  a  little 
behind  him,  and  caricatured  all  his  motions  most  ludi 
crously.  In  the  next  scene  the  distracted  husband,  whose 
lady  has  proved  unfaithful,  encounters  the  pilgrim  and 
makes  at  him  with  drawn  sword,  taking  him  for  the 
betrayer  of  his  beloved.  Pulcinella  meets  him  with  his 
pilgrim's  staff,  which  he  brandishes  at  him  in  a  most 
laughable  manner,  turning  into  ridicule  all  his  anger  and 
distress.  The  audience  roar  with  delight,  but  do  not 
applaud.  Pulcinella  then  has  a  scene  to  himself  with  two 
girls,  each  of  whom  falls  in  love  with  him,  and  treat  him 
to  sugarplums.  Some  of  his  evolutions  were  very  particu 
larly  indecent.  After  this  he  did  not  appear  again. 
Tragedy  resumed  her  reign  undisturbed  .  .  .  Pulcinella 
is  a  most  original  character.  His  ridicule  does  not  spare 
the  hero  and  the  heroine  themselves.  In  a  terrific  scene 
of  incantation  and  sorcery  which  I  saw  to-day,  Pulcinella 


108  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAtf 

pretended  at  first  to  be  very  much  frightened,  but  seized 
an  opportunity  to  knock  over  Death  himself,  who  was  ris 
ing  out  of  a  fiery  pit  to  seize  him.  He  kicked  a  Sultan  in 
the  face.  He  is  always  present  in  every  tragic  or  pathetic 
scene,  turning  the  whole  to  ridicule  by  his  ludicrous  cari 
catures,  or  his  affected  sympathy.  He  is  always  planning 
tricks  to  get  his  best  friends  into  a  scrape." 

Here  is  one  of  his  most  graphic  pages,  written  at 
Bologna :  * 

"The  diligence  was  full  of  Frenchmen.  In  one  day 
and  one  night  we  got  to  Bologna.  Here,  in  the  yard  of 
the  office,  among  the  soldiers  and  other  officials  who  stood 
with  folded  arms  listlessly  staring  at  the  strangers,  was  an 
animal  nearly  seven  feet  high,  with  a  face  like  a  large 
baboon.  .  .  .  His  motions,  too,  exactly  resembled  a  large 
monkey's.  He  bounded  about,  swinging  himself  up  and 
down  the  diligence,  tossing  about  heavy  trunks  and  bales, 
as  if  they  were  feathers,  with  his  long  muscular  arms.  He 
kept  his  eyes  rolling  about  in  his  head,  glancing  at  every 
thing  in  the  yard,  with  an  expression  of  infinite  alacrity 
and  anxiety,  and  whenever  he  saw  anj^thing  that  met  his 
disapproval  he  would  jump  to  rectify  it  with  a  sort  of 
angry  chattering  in  his  throat.  He  was  a  deaf  mute." 

In  London  he  found  this  subject  for  his  pen  : 

"Walk  out  in  the  evening,  and  keep  a  yard  or  two  be 
hind  some  wretched  clerk,  who  with  nose  elevated  in  the 
air,  elbows  stuck  out  at  right  angles,  and  the  pewter  knob 
of  his  cane  playing  upon  his  under  lip,  is  straddling  his 
bow-legs  over  the  sidewalk  with  a  most  majestic  air.  Get 
behind  him  and  you  see  his  dignity  greatly  disturbed. 


PREPARATION  109 

First  he  glances  over  one  of  his  narrow  shoulders  —  then 
over  the  other  —  then  he  edges  off  to  the  other  side  of  the 
walk,  and  turns  his  vacant  lobster  eyes  full  upon  you,  then 
he  passes  his  hand  over  his  coat  tail  —  and  finally  he 
draws  forth  from  his  pocket  the  object  of  all  this  solicitude 
in  the  shape  of  a  venerable  and  ragged  cotton  handker 
chief,  which  he  holds  in  his  hand,  to  keep  it  out  of  harm's 
way.  I  have  been  thus  taken  for  a  pickpocket  more  than 
a  dozen  times  to-night  —  not  the  less  so  for  being  respec 
tably  dressed,  for  these  gentry  are  the  most  dashy  men  on 
the  Strand.  There  is  an  interesting  mixture  of  vulgarity 
and  helplessness  in  the  swarm  of  ugly  faces  you  see  in  the 
streets  —  meagre,  feeble,  ill-proportioned,  or  not  propor 
tioned  at  all,  the  blockheads  must  needs  put  on  a  game 
air  and  affect  the  '  man  of  the  world '  in  their  small  way. 
I  have  not  met  one  handsome  woman  yet,  though  I  have 
certainly  walked  more  than  fifty  miles  since  I  have  been 
here.  Elsewhere  Englishmen  are  tall,  strong,  and  manly; 
here  the  crowd  that  swarms  through  the  streets  are  like 
the  outcasts  of  a  hospital." 

We  shall  discuss  later  the  fact  that  Parkman 
rarely  expresses  sympathy  or  admiration  for  men, 
either  as  nations,  classes,  or  individuals.  For  the 
present  we  offer  the  following  three  sketches  as  the 
only  exceptions  to  this  rule  in  his  diary.  While  tak 
ing  a  drive  in  Sicily  he  met  with  this  experience : 

"  At  Giarri,  a  large  place  where  we  stopped  to  rest  the 
horses,  we  were  beset  of  course  by  beggars.  One  little 
rascal,  about  six  years  old  —  whose  clothes,  if  they  an 
swered  the  purpose  of  warmth,  answered  no  other  purposes 
for  which  clothing  is  intended,  followed  me  about  for  half 


110  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMA1ST 

an  hour,  like  a  little  dog.  I  could  not  muster  sternness 
enough  to  order  him  away  with  effect  —  and  he  was 
too  small  to  kick  into  the  gutter  —  so  he  went  on,  beg 
ging  for  a  carlino.  At  last  he  began  slyly  to  mock,  for 
my  edification,  the  grave  countenance  and  stately  air  of 
Don  Mateo,  and  did  it  so  ludicrously  that  I  stood  laugh 
ing  at  him.  At  this  he  summoned  a  larger  boy  to  his 
side,  who  hummed  a  tune,  while  he  danced  a  sort  of  horn 
pipe  on  the  pavement.  I  could  forbear  110  longer,  but 
gave  him  a  grano  —  about  the  third  part  of  a  cent.  A 
crowd  of  loungers  had  mustered  to  witness  the  performance 
of  this  manikin,  who  was  about  a  foot  and  a  half  high. 
There  they  stood  in  their  brown  capotes,  looking  gravely 
from  out  of  their  hoods  at  the  spectacle  of  my  unparalleled 
generosity,  which  was  a  signal  for  action.  I  was  half- 
stunned  with  supplications  from  men,  women,  and  chil 
dren,  and  glad,  after  cursing  them  a  little,  to  escape  into 
the  carriage.  Among  the  rest  was  a  girl,  most  abominably 
ugly,  who  appeared  to  be  a  mute.  I  threw  her  a  large 
copper  coin  —  the  young  Spaniard  added  a  couple  more, 
which  threw  the  girl  into  a  perfect  frenzy  of  delight.  She 
danced  about  among  the  crowd  flinging  both  hands  into 
the  air  —  then  kissing  the  coins,  and  pressing  them 
against  her  breast  ;  tossing  them  on  the  ground  before 
her,  and  gathering  them  up  again;  till  her  ugly  face 
seemed  absolutely  good  looking  with  the  excess  of  her 
pleasure." 

This  sketch  was  taken  on  the  steamer  when  leav 
ing  Palermo  for  Naples: 

"An    old    monk  was    on   board,  among  the    crowd  of 
nobles  and  exquisites,  with  the  cord  of  St.  Francis  hold- 


PREPARATION  111 

ing  his  tattered  rags  together.  He  had  a  little  contri 
bution  box  in  his  hand,  and  was  gliding  about  in  a 
crouching  posture,  with  his  cap  in  his  hand,  begging 
for  his  patron's  benefit.  He  would  look  up  into  the 
faces  of  an  inattentive  group  with  an  humble  and  sup 
plicating  countenance,  just  like  a  starved  dog  expecting 
a  piece  of  meat  at  a  dinner  table.  A  pleasant  voyage 
and  perfect  safety  was  to  be  the  reward  of  all  who  dropped 
a  grano  into  the  box.  My  heart  was  moved  with  compas 
sion  toward  the  old  fellow,  he  looked  so  humble  and  so 
miserable.  I  tried  to  catch  his  eye  to  give  him  some 
thing  —  but  my  unwonted  feeling  of  benevolence  toward 
a  Sicilian  beggar  was  destined  to  bear  no  fruit  —  for  just 
then  all  visitors  were  warned  off.  The  old  monk  tum 
bled  himself  over  the  side  into  the  boat  of  a  charitable 
facchino." 

Another  page  reveals  pleasantly  his  ready  appre 
ciation  of  manliness  wherever  it  may  be  found: 

"This  morning  as  I  got  half  asleep  into  the  post  car 
riage,  at  Colico  [or  Calico],  I  was  saluted  by  a  bon  giorno 
by  a  small  voice  from  a  dark  corner,  where  I  discovered 
by  groping  about  a  fine  boy  of  thirteen  or  fourteen  with 
great  promise  of  muscles  yet  undeveloped.  He  was  a 
young  Swiss,  who  spoke  Italian ;  so  I  began  to  talk  with 
him.  He  spoke  in  a  frank  and  bold  manner.  I  asked 
him  if  he  did  not  mean  to  be  a  soldier.  He  said  he 
should  have  to,  for  all  the  Swiss  were  obliged  to  serve 
from  the  age  of  eighteen  to  twenty-four.  He  was  mis 
taken;  the  Swiss  military  system  resembles  ours.  But 
he  meant  to  be  an  officer  because  he  was  noble.  The 
conductor  at  this  moment  brought  a  lantern  to  the  win- 


112  A   LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

dow  which  showed  a  handsome  Quentin  Durward-like  boy, 
but  clothed  in  rough  homespun,  and  clouted  shoes  that 
did  not  look  much  like  nobility,  and  reminded  me  of 
Quentin's  pretensions.  He  had  not  heard  of  America,  and 
inquired  with  great  curiosity  how  far  it  was,  and  how  long 
the  term  of  military  service  was.  I  told  him  the  period 
that  we  are  expected  to  be  in  readiness,  which  astonished 
him  exceedingly.  '  Corpo  di  Bacco  !  piti  di  quarant'  anni 
di  militare  !  Ma  quell'  e  bello !  piu  di  quarant'  anni  di 
militare ! '  He  said  he  was  a  Calvinist  and  that  all  of 
his  religion  were  considered  as  devils  —  come  diavoli  — 
by  the  people  around.  He  fell  asleep  at  last,  and  did 
not  wake  till  we  stopped  at  Chiavenna,  when  he  jumped 
up,  shook  himself,  took  his  stick,  and  walked  off  to  the 
mountains. " 

Parkman's  appreciation  of  the  feminine  character, 
which  was  both  ardent  and  discriminating,  found 
but  few  expressions  in  his  diaries ;  women  were  not 
then  the  important  element  of  his  life  and  work 
that  they  subsequently  became.  Of  Sicilian  women 
he  said: 

"One  passed  me  in  the  church  of  the  Capuchin  Con 
vent,  with  the  black  eye,  the  warm  rich  cheek,  and  the 
bright  glance  that  belong  to  southern  climates  and  are 
beautiful  beyond  all  else." 

Of  the  women  in  Naples  he  observed  : 

"  There  is  something  particularly  attractive  about 
these  women,  who  are  seldom,  however,  handsome,  prop 
erly  speaking  —  but  there  is  the  devil  in  their  bright 
faces  and  full  rounded  forms." 


PREPARATION  113 

The  charm  and  grace  of  Italian  ladies  evidently 
went  to  his  youthful  heart  in  the  carnival  at 
Rome  : 

"  Few  had  any  regular  features,  but  there  was  an 
expression  of  heart  and  spirit,  and  a  loftiness  heside 
which  did  not  shame  their  birth.  They  flung  their 
flowers  at  you  with  the  freest  and  most  graceful  action 
imaginable.  To  battle  with  flowers  against  a  laughing 
and  conscious  face  —  showering  your  ammunition  thick 
as  the  carriage  slowly  passes  the  balcony  —  then  strain 
ing  your  eyes  to  catch  the  last  glance  of  the  black-eyed 
witch  and  the  last  wave  of  her  hand  as  the  crowd  closes 
around  her  —  all  this  is  no  contemptible  amusement.7' 

His  aversion  to  certain  types  of  women  was  as 
strong  as  his  admiration  for  others ;  and  his  criticism 
was  often  expressed  with  a  trenchant  force  that  left 
no  room  for  doubt.  Thus  in  1845  he  made  this 
observation  of  a  noisy  party  in  the  cars  in  his  own 
state  of  Massachusetts: 

"Is  not  a  half  educated  vulgar  weak  woman  a  disgust 
ing  animal  ?  Where  there  is  no  education  at  all  and  no 
pretension,  the  matter  is  all  very  well  —  where  high  edu 
cation  and  good  sense  are  united  it  is  very  well  indeed j 
but  the  half  and  half  genteel  —  damn  them  !  " 

As  against  this  we  may  put  the  following  sketch 
of  Mrs.  General  Riedesel,  taken  from  his  review  of 
her  memoirs.  It  seems  by  its  sureness  of  touch  as 
well  as  by  its  harmony  with  his  known  taste,  to  be 
the  portrait  of  a  woman  lie  would  have  liked  very 

8 


114  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

much ;  in  fact  it  seems  to  me  to  come  nearer  than 
any  other  writing  of  his  to  the  expression  of  his 
ideal  woman,  hardly  excepting  the  heroine  of  "  Vas- 
sall  Morton." 

"Her  graceful  and  feminine  character  was  braced  by 
an  admirable  courage,  and  a  spirit  which  must  have  made 
her  a  very  piquant  companion.  She  had  resources  for 
every  emergency,  made  friends  everywhere,  and  appears 
to  have  been  equally  mistress  of  the  situation  in  the 
backwoods  of  Virginia,  and  in  the  family  circle  of  King 
George  III.  .  .  .  She  was  too  sensible,  natural,  and  pure 
to  be  a  prude." 

Parkman's  memory  of  the  eye,  so  remarkable  for 
scenery,  was  equally  good  for  faces.  It  is  related 
that  about  1885  he  one  day  sat  down  to  dine  at  a 
friend's  house  next  to  a  lady  whom  he  had  not  ob 
served  with  much  care.  Presently  she  said :  "  I  see, 
Mr.  Parkman,  that  you  do  not  recognize  me."  He 
then  looked  attentively  at  her  face  and  at  once  re 
plied  :  "  The  last  time  I  talked  with  you  was  on  your 
father's  piazza  at  Palermo  in  1843." 

His  more  intimate  study  of  men  in  friends  and 
acquaintances  shows  him  to  have  been  free  from 
class  prejudice  in  personal  relations.  What  he  de 
manded  first  and  last  was  manliness,  character ;  the 
external  circumstances  of  wealth,  birth,  education, 
set  up  no  barriers  between  him  and  any  man  or 
woman;  hauteur  was  never  seen  in  his  feeling  or 
conduct.  Any  worthy  individual,  though  from  a 
class  for  which  Parkman  may  have  had  no  sym- 


PREPARATION  115 

pathy,  became  interesting  to  him  as  soon  as  per 
sonal  relations  were  established.  He  showed  interest 
in  the  history,  character,  plans,  conduct,  and  welfare 
of  all  his  acquaintances,  and  often  of  their  children 
as  well.  He  was  catholic  in  taking  into  his  friend 
ship  men  of  all  kinds,  —  the  grave  and  the  gay,  the 
exuberant  and  the  reserved,  the  cool  and  the  fiery. 
On  the  steamer  going  from  Malta  to  Messina  in 
1843,  he  fell  into  pleasant,  even  friendly,  relations 
with  a  Sicilian  who  had  been  a  cook  in  Murdock's 
tavern  in  Boston,  and  some  of  his  warmest  expres 
sions  of  regard  and  admiration  are  those  concerning 
his  guide  on  the  Oregon  Trail  journey.  Besides 
ending  the  book  with  praises  of  this  illiterate  man 
as  a  true  gentleman,  he  says  :  "  I  have  never,  in  the 
city  or  the  wilderness,  met  a  better  man  than  my 
noble  and  true-hearted  friend,  Henry  Chatillon." l 

His  diary  on  this  journey  through  Europe  in  1844 
contains  the  longest  of  his  sketches  of  character. 
He  thus  described  his  guide  and  muleteer  in  Sicily, 
Luigi  Rannesi : 

"  Luigi,  a  diminutive  Sicilian,  with  a  thin  brown  face 
and  an  air  of  alertness  about  every  inch  of  him,  began  to 
jabber  Italian  with  such  volubility  that  I  could  not  under 
stand  a  word.  He  must  needs  exhibit  every  article  of  the 
provisions  he  had  got  ready  for  the  journey,  extolling  the 
qualities  of  each  —  and  they  deserved  all  his  praises  — 
always  ended  by  pounding  himself  on  the  breast,  rolling 
up  his  eyes  and  exclaiming  ;  Do  you  think  Luigi  loves 

1  The  Oregon  Trail,  ed.  1849,  p.  23. 


116  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

money  ?  No !  Luigi  loves  honor  !  '  and  then  launching 
forth  into  interminable  eulogiums  of  the  country  we  were 
going  to  see,  and  the  adventures  we  should  meet  there.  .  . 
lie  talked  and  gesticulated  half  frenzied  because  he  found 
I  could  not  understand  half  he  said;  then  seized  my  hand 
which  he  dutifully  kissed  and  left  me  to  my  meditations.7' 

On  approaching  Girgenti  : 

4 '  One  of  his  fits  of  enthusiasm  had  taken  possession  of 
Luigi.  He  began  to  lash  his  mule  and  drive  him  along 
over  mud  and  rocks  at  such  a  rate  that  I  thought  him  mad, 
till  he  told  me  that  it  was  necessary  — fa  bisogno  —  to  get 
to  Girgenti  before  the  Englishmen. 

"  '  Corragio  !  my  brave  mule!  Corragio,  Signore, '  he 
shouted.  '  We  shall  be  the  victors  ! '  At  that  he  drove  full 
speed  up  the  steep  hill  towards  the  gate.  Nothing  would 
stop  him.  He  leaped  over  ditches,  —  scrambled  through 
mud  and  stones,  shouting  i  Corragio  '  at  the  top  of  his  lungs. 
At  last  an  insuperable  gully  brought  him  up  short.  He 
clapped  his  hand  to  his  forehead  exclaiming  '  Santissima 
Maria  ?  in  a  tone  of  wrath  and  despair  —  then  recovered 
his  spirits  and  dashed  off  in  another  direction.  We  suc 
ceeded.  When  we  got  to  the  top  the  carriage  (containing 
the  Englishmen)  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  and  Luigi 
shouted  *  Vittoria ! '  as  he  rode  into  the  gate  as  much 
elated  as  if  he  had  accomplished  some  great  achievement. 

"  Luigi  brings  me  pockets  full  of  ancient  money,  and 
seems  greatly  astonished  at  my  indifference.  As  for  him 
self  he  is  rabid  [as  a  numismatic  archaeologist].  He 
dodges  into  every  house  and  shop,  inquiring  for  '  Antica 
moneta; '  stops  contadini  at  work  with  the  same  question; 
he  has  scraped  together  an  enormous  bag  full  for  which  he 


PREPARATION  117 

paid  scarce  anything,  perfectly  familiar  as  he  is  with  its 
true  value  and  the  customs  of  the  country.  His  enthusi 
asm  embraces  every  object,  far  and  wide.  He  raves  of  love 
on  the  road,  tells  how  he  eloped  with  his  wife,  sings  love 
songs ;  then  falls  into  the  martial  vein;  shouts  '  Corragio ' ; 
defies  the  wind,  rain,  and  torrents.  He  enters  into  all  my 
plans  with  a  most  fervid  zeal,  leaving  me  nothing  to  do. 
Every  night  he  comes  upstairs  bringing  all  kinds  of  dresses 
and  utensils  of  the  people  for  me  to  look  at.  Sometimes 
he  comes  in  with  a  handful  of  old  coins,  telling  me  with  a 
chuckle  that  he  had  bought  them  for  'pochissimo  '  ;  kiss 
ing  them  repeatedly  in  the  exultation  of  a  good  bargain. 
I  have  lived  most  sumptuously  ever  since  I  have  been  with 
him.  He  puts  the  whole  inn  into  a  ferment,  rakes  the 
town  to  find  the  best  of  everything  and  waits  on  table  with 
an  eulogium  of  every  dish.  <Ah!  Signore,'  he  repeats, 
i  do  you  think  Luigi  loves  money  ?  No !  Luigi  loves 
honor  ! '  He  has  something  to  give  to  every  beggar  he 
meets.  In  short,  the  fellow  is  a  jewel,  and  shall  be  my 
particular  friend  henceforth. 

"I  went  with  him  to  the  house  of  a  Signore  Politi,  who 
is  fairly  rampant  with  antiquarian  zeal,  and  deeply  en 
amoured  moreover  of  the  fine  arts.  The  studio  of  this 
virtuoso  presented  a  formidable  display  of  old  pictures, 
plaster  casts,  vases,  fragments  of  statues,  and  a  confused 
medley  of  indescribables.  He  was  sitting  at  his  easel 
copying  a  Madonna  of  Guido.  Luigi  pulled  off  his  hat 
with  great  respect,  advanced,  and  drawing  an  antique 
cameo  from  the  multitudinous  folds  of  his  handkerchief 
presented  it  as  '  Un  piccolo  complimento '  to  Signore.  The 
virtuoso  examined  it  through  his  spectacles,  expressed  his 
approval,  and  coolly  pocketed  it,  leaving  me  in  equal  ad- 


118  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

miration  at  Luigi's  making  a  '  complimento  '  of  such  value 
and  at  Politics  cavalier-like  style  of  accepting  it.  The 
mystery  was  soon  solved  —  it  was  like  Turkish  or  Indian 
presents ;  Luigi  expected  as  a  matter  of  course  a  '  compli 
mento  '  in  return.  In  fact  he  retired  with  a  handkerchief 
full  of  antiquities.  He  told  me  he  always  carried  some 
thing  with  him,  t  per  fare  un  complimento  '  to  the  Signori 
who  honored  him  with  their  acquaintance.  He  knows 
everybody,  from  princes  to  beggars. 

"  Luigi  came  up  in  the  evening,  to  hold  *  un  discorso' 
with  me  according  to  his  custom.  He  was  in  his  usual 
state  of  excitement.  He  takes  a  glass  of  wine  in  his  hand 
'  viva  1' onora,  signorino  mio,'  rolling  up  his  eyes  and 
flourishing  his  hands,  '  viva  Bacco;  viva  Dio ;  viva  il 
console  Americano  ! '  and  so  on,  the  finale  being  a  seizure 
and  kissing  of  my  hand,  after  which  he  inquires  if  I  shall 
want  him,  looks  about  to  see  that  all  is  right,  kisses  my 
hand  again  and  goes  off." 

The  following  passage  telling  their  nearest  approach 
to  robbery  gives  another  touch  to  his  sketch  of 
Luigi : 

"We  were  riding  past  an  old  house  of  contadini  when 
Luigi  suddenly  reined  back  his  mule  upon  mine,  uttering 
in  a  whisper  of  consternation,  ( /Santissima  Maria/'  I 
looked  at  him  and  saw  that  the  natural  muddy  brown  of 
his  thin  face  was  changed  to  a  most  cadaverous  yellow. 
I  asked  him  what  was  the  matter.  He  made  no  answer, 
but  shouted  aloud  for  Michele  —  who  was  a  little  way  be 
hind  among  the  trees  —  and  then  began  to  cross  himself 
and  mutter  prayers.  I  could  see  nothing  except  a  man 
with  a  gun  walking  away  from  the  road  toward  a  group  of 


PREPARATION  119 

a  dozen  contadini  who  were  standing  in  front  of  the  shat 
tered  house.  We  had  left  them  far  behind,  before  Luigi 
was  so  far  recovered  as  to  tell  me  that  a  man  had  pointed 
a  gun  at  him  from  the  bushes,  but  had  desisted  when  he 
saw  Michele.  He  added  that  next  to  the  mountains 
around  Palermo  this  place  was  the  most  notorious  for 
robbers  in  all  Sicily.  I  do  not  for  a  moment  imagine  that 
the  fellow  intended  us  bodily  harm." 

Here  is  a  note  on  Luigi's  attendant  muleteer : 

"  The  way  was  enlivened  by  the  edifying  singularities 
of  the  muleteer  Michele,  who  walked  along  talking  with 
out  intermission  for  an  hour  together,  though  no  one 
listened  or  replied.  He  interrupted  his  discourse  only  to 
belabor  his  mule  and  curse  him  in  Sicilian.  When  we 
came  to  a  steep  place,  he  would  take  a  firm  hold  of  the 
beast's  tail  with  one  hand,  while  he  belabored  him  with  a 
rope's  end  that  he  held  in  the  other,  and  thus  they  would 
scramble  up  together.  Where  the  mud  was  more  than  a 
foot  deep  Michele  would  place  both  hands  on  the  mule's 
rump  and  vault  with  a  sort  of  grunt  upon  his  back  ; 
wiggle  himself  about  for  a  while  to  find  a  comfortable  seat, 
and  then  burst  forth  with  some  holy  canticle  in  praise  of 
a  Saint." 

The  study  of  life  and  character  continues,  after 
history,  to  be  the  most  important  element  of  his 
diaries  all  through  1844,  1845,  and  1846,  up  to  his 
departure  from  St.  Louis  for  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
but  his  pages  contain  very  few  passages  worthy  of 
quotation.  The  fact  of  chief  interest  is  that  the 
historian  devoted  so  much  time  and  pains  to  the 


120  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

study  of  character  and  contemporary  life.  He 
sketched  some  of  his  classmates,  his  fellow  students 
in  the  Law  School;  he  attended  public  meetings, 
as  those  of  the  Millerites  and  Fourierites,  not  because 
he  was  interested  in  the  causes,  but  to  study  men, 
both  collectively  and  individually.  The  manners, 
the  conversations,  the  traits  of  mind,  the  quality,  the 
motives  of  men,  all  attracted  his  searching  eye.  His 
observation  was  directed  impartially  to  the  most 
diverse  characters,  —  stage  drivers,  soldiers,  Indians, 
sailors,  priests,  farmers,  scholars,  artists,  the  grave, 
the  gay,  the  old  and  the  young,  —  everybody  was 
grist  for  his  mill. 

Here  is  a  page  written  in  1845 : 

"  J.  —  His  vanity  and  love  of  display  joined  with  energy 
combine  to  make  a  fool  of  him.  He  affects  the  man  of 
the  world  —  goes  always  in  full  dress,  and  though  he  has 
no  sportsmanlike  propensities  keeps  a  breed  of  dogs  about 
him,  and  affects  the  connoisseur,  also  a  fine  equipage. 
He  is  foolishly  proud  of  money  and  his  supposed  rank  in 
society,  and  lets  drop  no  opportunity  of  showing  his 
superiority.  From  constantly  pushing  himself  into  the 
foremost  places  and  affecting  to  command  everywhere,  he 
has  raised  a  host  of  enemies.  His  vanity  impels  him  to 
lie  enormously.  I  suspect  him  of  not  being  remarkably 
brave,  though  I  should  never  have  made  the  remark  but 
for  some  boastful  lies  he  bad  lately  been  telling  about  a 
street  battle  with  some  fellows  who  insulted  him.  He  is 
hospitable  and  bountiful,  though  ostentatious." 


PREPARATION  121 

We  may  close  these  extracts  concerning  his  study 
of  character  with  this  passage  written  at  St.  Louis, 
1846,  just  before  his  departure  on  the  Oregon  Trail 
trip: 

"  How  infinite  is  the  diversity  of  human  character ! 
Old  Mr.  C.  of  nearly  eighty,  lively,  bright,  and  active  — 
the  old  man  goes  about  rejoicing  in  his  own  superiority 
to  age  —  wrapt  up  in  himself,  unobservant,  impenetrable, 
impassive.  His  companion  was  the  reverse  —  young, 
silent  through  bashful  ness,  observing  all,  feeling  all,  and 
constantly  in  hostility  to  external  influences,  — though 
resolute  and  determined,  acting  ever  under  the  burden  of 
constitutional  diffidence.  How  hostile  is  such  a  quality 
to  a  commanding  character.  It  is  the  mi  rid  as  it  stamps 
its  character  on  the  bearing  and  manner  that  carries 
weight;  the  bold,  unhesitating,  confident  expression  has 
authority — not  the  forced,  sharp,  painful  expression  of 
resolution  struggling  against  diffidence.  Some  men  have 
a  sort  of  power  from  their  very  vanity  —  they  are  too  dull, 
too  impassive  to  feel  a  repressing  influence  from  other 
minds  —  and,  thinking  themselves  the  greatest  men  on 
earth,  they  assume  a  port  and  voice  that  imposes  a  sort  of 
respect.  Others  there  are  who,  with  many  of  the  internal 
qualities  of  command,  can  never  assume  its  outward  feat 
ures  —  and  fail  in  consequence.  How  wide  and  deep  and 
infinitely  various  is  human  nature !  and  how  the  contem 
plation  of  it  grows  more  absorbing  as  its  features  disclose 
themselves  to  view  !  " 

The  unity  of  Parkman's  life,  the  concentration  of 
all  his  efforts  from  first  to  last  on  the  writing  of 


122  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

history,  was  not  reached  quite  so  early  or  so  defin 
itely  as  is  generally  supposed.  In  1879,  in  an  im 
personal  way,  he  described  the  wisdom  of  such  a 
course ;  and  the  passage  is  too  clearly  a  reflection  of 
his  convictions  and  conduct  to  escape  a  personal 
application : 

"There  is  a  universal  law  of  growth  and  achievement. 
The  man  who  knows  himself,  understands  his  own  powers 
and  aptitudes,  forms  purposes  in  accord  with  them,  and 
pursues  these  purposes  steadily,  is  the  man  of  success. 
He  who  takes  no  account  of  his  own  nature,  makes  his 
will  the  father  of  his  thought,  shuts  his  eyes  to  unwelcome 
truths,  places  himself  in  false  positions,  and  turns  from 
the  good  within  his  reach  to  strain  after  the  unattainable, 
is  predestined  to  vexation  and  failure.  Every  one  has  his 
place  in  the  world,  and  the  wise  and  fortunate  find  it." 

This  passage  may  be  a  backward  glance  at  some  of 
his  early  struggles  with  his  own  nature.  He  con 
fesses  in  his  autobiographical  letter  that  he  was  for 
a  time  divided  between  "  the  Muse  of  History  .  .  . 
and  her  wayward  sisters."  We  know  that  poetry 
commanded  his  attention  up  to  the  middle  of  his 
college  course  ;  and  judging  by  his  diaries,  fiction 
shared  his  affections  to  a  certain  extent  with  the 
soberer  muse  at  a  much  later  epoch.  The  closing 
remark  of  the  above  quotation  from  his  journal  at  St. 
Louis,  stands  out  boldly  by  its  emphasis  and  breadth 
as  to  his  interest  in  the  study  of  character.  On  the 
other  hand  it  is  noteworthy  that  neither  letters  nor 
diaries  contain  any  expression  of  joy  or  interest  in 


PREPARATION  123 

the  pursuit  of  historical  study.  If  this  study  had  at 
that  time  become  his  sole  aim  and  chief  delight,  his 
reserve  was  indeed  extraordinary.  His  diaries  are 
far  more  those  of  a  novelist  than  a  historian,  being 
largely  made  up  of  sketches  of  character,  manners, 
and  customs,  dialect,  and  other  contemporaneous  and 
realistic  matters;  but  silent  as  to  the  deeper  and 
broader  questions  of  life  that  concern  history. 
He  made  "  Vassall  Morton  "  say  (page  216)  : 

"  When  I  was  a  boy  I  pleased  myself  with  planning 
that  I  would  study  out  the  springs  of  human  action,  and 
trace  human  emotion  up  to  its  sources.  It  was  a  boy's 
idea  —  to  fathom  the  unfathomable,  to  line  and  map  out 
the  shifting  clouds  and  the  ever  moving  winds.  De 
Stae'l  speaks  the  truth  —  l  man  may  learn  to  rule  man, 
but  only  God  can  comprehend  him.'" 

Both  Parkman  and  Motley  felt  the  close  relation 
ship  of  history  and  fiction,  and  each  yielded  to  the 
seduction  of  the  latter  in  writing  a  novel  early  in 
their  careers.  Parkman  wrote  "Vassall  Morton" 
after  having  tried  his  hand  successfully  as  historian 
in  "  The  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac."  He  seems  to  have 
deprecated  being  taken  too  seriously,  and  to  have 
eased  the  launching  of  a  maiden  novel  by  putting  on 
the  titlepage  this  verse  : 

"  Ecrive  qui  voudra  !  Chacun  a  ce  metier 
Peut  prendre  impunement  de  1'encre  et  du  papier." 

It  may  be  remarked  in  passing  that  each  of  the 
seventy-four  chapters  of  "Vassall  Morton,"  as  well 


124  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

as  those  of  the  first  edition  of  "  The  Oregon  Trail," 
is  headed  by  one  or  more  quotations  of  poetry.  The 
depth  of  Parkman's  early  interest  in  poetry  stands 
revealed  by  the  range  of  reading  shown  in  these 
quotations,  and  it  is  equally  remarkable  that  this  in 
terest  never  reappeared  in  either  his  writings  or  con 
versation  after  the  publication  of  "  Vassall  Morton." 
His  only  use  of  verse  in  after  life  was  a  humorous 
one,  —  composing  now  and  then  a  parody  or  quoting 
some  stanza  absurd  for  its  illiteracy. 

The  facts  of  his  life  show  very  clearly  that  fiction 
never  disturbed  the  essential  unity  of  his  career. 
Probably  he  wrote  "  Vassall  Morton "  chiefly  as  a 
recreation ;  enjoying  work  on  this  intermediate  level 
of  art  between  the  heights  of  poetry  he  had  relin 
quished  and  the  plain  of  history  he  had  accepted. 
Whatever  his  hopes  may  have  been,  they  were 
abandoned  after  the  publication  and  failure  of  the 
novel  in  1856.  His  subsequent  feeling  towards  the 
book  might  be  taken  as  a  reflection  of  some  degree 
of  secret  disappointment,  and  of  his  strong  love  of 
dignity  and  consistency.  He  disliked  to  hear  it 
mentioned,  and  never  included  it  among  his  works. 
His  aversion  to  it  may  have  sprung  in  part  from  its 
autobiographic  character,  although  this  is  well  con 
cealed  from  all  but  his  intimate  friends;  certainly 
he  need  not  have  been  ashamed  of  the  hero  as  a 
personification  of  his  own  leading  traits.  Then 
again,  his  dislike  may  have  sprung  from  a  loftier 
feeling :  coming  as  he  did  to  have  a  legitimate  pride 


PREPARATION  125 

in  his  own  extraordinary  fidelity  to  his  chosen  muse, 
in  spite  of  all  discouragements  and  dangers,  he  could 
hardly  avoid  displeasure  at  the  rival  that  for  a  time 
led  him  a  little  astray. 

On  what  kinds  of  expression  did  Mr.  Parkman 
rely  in  his  study  of  character?  and  what  was  the 
range  of  his  impressions  ?  His  chief  reliance  seems 
to  me  to  have  been  the  external,  matter-of-fact  indi 
cations  of  words  and  deeds.  While  these  are  often 
a  spontaneous  and  true  expression  of  character,  they 
are  not  always  thus  to  be  depended  on.  Words, 
even  when  used  without  the  intention  of  hiding 
thought,  are  frequently  quite  inadequate  to  a  sin 
cere  and  full  expression.  Even  the  more  substantial 
testimony  of  conduct  is  misleading  without  a  full 
knowledge  of  the  convictions,  intentions,  feelings, 
and  circumstances  from  which  it  springs.  The  spirit, 
the  essential  character,  lives  and  pursues  its  appar 
ently  contradictory  play  behind  these  masks  of  words, 
deeds,  and  material  forms  as  perceived  by  the  aver 
age  eye  and  mind.  The  deeper  and  more  essential 
revelations  are  made  in  subtile  and  unconscious 
modes  of  expression,  which  are  visible  only  to  him 
who  possesses  highly  developed  organs  of  sense  and 
mental  faculties  capable  of  spiritual  insight.  He 
who  has  not  an  eye  sensitive  to  the  subtilities  of 
form,  line,  color,  and  motion,  will  not  see  all  the 
unconscious  revelations  made  in  face,  attitude  and 
gesture ;  without  a  fine  ear  he  will  not  hear  the 
significant  delicacies  of  pronunciation,  tones,  and 


126  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

inflections  of  voice;  or  if  he  lack  the  intuitive  and 
spiritual  cast  of  mind,  he  will  not  duly  appreciate 
the  significance  of  the  phenomena  of  the  inner  life 
that  he  may  perceive.  It  must  be  said,  however, 
that  instinct  often  leads  us  to  the  truth  beyond  the 
line  apparently  drawn  by  the  senses ;  and  Mr.  Park- 
man  in  this  way  may  well  have  felt  the  nature  of 
men  in  unexpected  particulars.  His  sensitiveness  to 
the  influence  of  congenial  and  uncongenial  persons 
lends  some  weight  to  this  supposition.  This  im 
pressibility,  however,  indicates  an  instinctive  recog 
nition  of  mutually  congenial  temperaments  more 
than  any  deep  penetration  into  the  secrets  of  char 
acter.  His  reliance  chiefly  on  words  and  deeds  as 
the  indication  of  character  was  very  natural ;  for 
literature  is  the  mode  of  expression  that  he  mas 
tered  most  thoroughly,  and  he  was  continually  study 
ing  and  writing  the  records  of  words  and  deeds 
of  the  past,  and  drawing  portraits  from  these 
revelations. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  tragic  element  in  Parkman's  life  is  the  proba 
bility  that  his  sufferings  were  quite  as  much  the 
result  of  ignorance  as  of  inherited  weakness.  He 
himself  said  that  with  wiser  management  his  diseases 
might  have  been  cured  and  outgrown.  As  a  boy  he 
was  delicate,  though  not  sickly;  his  inherent  forces 
and  the  activities  of  youth  soon  brought  him  out  of 
the  doubtful  conditions  of  his  childhood,  making  him 
as  a  collegian  active  and  enduring  beyond  the  aver 
age;  while  the  abundance  of  his  vitality  and  the 
strength  of  his  constitution  are  fully  attested  by  the 
entire  course  of  his  life,  in  resisting  the  depression 
of  disease  and  in  performing  labor.  The  chief  error 
was  the  not  uncommon  mistake  of  regarding  exercise 
as  the  all-sufficient  means  of  securing  health.  While 
developing  his  muscles,  he  failed  in  the  larger  duty 
of  acquiring  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  general 
laws  of  health. 

His  physical  culture,  as  we  have  seen,  had  as  close 
a  connection  with  his  personality  as  any  other  part 
of  his  education.  His  tastes  and  ruling  traits  pointed 
in  advance  to  his  course  and  the  dangers  he  would  be 
likely  to  meet.  Early  in  his  college  life  muscular  de 
velopment  became  his  hobby;  he  desired  to  equal  the 


128  A  LIFE  OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Indian  in  strength,  agility,  endurance,  and  skill  in 
woodcraft;  he  also  became  convinced  that  a  healthy 
mind  could  exist  only  in  a  healthy  body.  But  in 
pursuing  these  laudable  aims  he  was  exposed  to  many 
risks.  His  self -discipline  began  when  he  was  yet  a 
boy  at  home;  he  would  not  permit  himself  habits 
or  thoughts  tending  in  the  least  to  weaken  the 
central  virtue  of  manliness.  He  never  could  abide 
weakness,  either  physical,  mental,  or  moral;  men, 
women,  opinions,  emotions,  to  command  his  admi 
ration  must  show  strength  and  energy.  Thus 
the  ways  of  the  prudent,  complaining,  and  self- 
indulgent  invalid  were  to  him  worthy  only  of  con 
tempt.  He  himself,  going  to  the  other  extreme, 
drove  his  body  to  exercise  with  an  excessive  and 
destructive  ambition.  He  treated  his  infirmities  by 
the  fatal  method  of  "crushing  them  by  force,"  at 
taining  almost  a  savage's  endurance  of  pain.  If  the 
strongest  mind,  bent  on  attaining  health  and  ignoring 
illness,  were  able  to  cure  disease  by  will-power,  Park- 
man  should  have  been  the  healthiest  of  men. 

Although  athletics  had  not  then  reached  their 
present  development  in  college  life,  he  found  suffi 
cient  means  for  attaining  his  ends.  "It  was  in 
Parkman's  junior  year  that  a  gymnasium  was  first 
provided  by  the  faculty  for  the  use  of  the  students. 
It  was  in  a  wooden  building  of  no  great  size,  and  was 
under  the  superintendence  of  a  pugilist  and  popular 
teacher  of  the  art  of  self-defence,  but  who  knew  little 
or  nothing  of  scientific  training  as  now  understood. 


PREPARATION  129 

It  was  provided  with  such  apparatus  as  was  then 
common,  and  the  young  men,  with  virtually  no  one 
to  direct  or  guide  them,  were  allowed  to  make  such 
use  as  they  pleased  of  the  parallel  bars,  lifting 
machines,  and  other  appliances.  Parkman  naturally 
availed  himself  with  eagerness  of  this  opportunity  of 
increasing  his  muscular  development,  now  become 
his  favorite  hobby.  He  was  a  constant  attendant  at 
the  gymnasium,  took  boxing  lessons,  and  emulated 
the  foremost  in  trials  of  strength  and  endurance. 
The  strain  was  too  great  for  a  constitution  not  nat 
urally  robust,  and  in  the  first  term  of  his  senior  year 
he  was  obliged  to  suspend  for  a  time  his  college 
studies,  and  seek  relaxation  and  relief  in  a  voyage  to 
Europe."1  Walking  was  one  of  his  favorite  exer 
cises,  and  he  connected  it,  as  we  have  seen,  with  his 
literary  purposes.  "  He  was  already  training  himself 
for  expeditions  into  the  wilderness,  and  preparing  to 
make  an  exhaustive  study  of  the  aborigines  by  living 
among  them  in  their  native  haunts.  As  a  part  of 
this  preparation  he  was  in  the  habit,  while  in  college, 
of  taking  long  walks,  going  always  at  so  rapid  a  pace 
that  it  was  difficult  to  keep  up  with  him.  This 
manner  of  walking  became  habitual  to  him,  and  he 
retained  it  to  the  last.  Long  years  afterward,  when 
crippled  by  disease  and  needing  two  canes  to  support 
his  step,  he  might  often  be  seen  in  the  streets  of 
Boston,  walking  rapidly  for  a  short  distance,  then 
suddenly  stopping,  wheeling  around,  and  propping 
1  Wheelwright. 
9 


130  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

himself  against  the  wall  of  a  house  to  give  a  moment's 
repose  to  his  enfeebled  knee.  Whatever  he  did,  he 
must  do  it  with  all  his  might.  He  could  not  saunter, 
he  could  not  creep;  he  must  move  rapidly  or  stand 
still."1  On  these  walks  in  the  country  he  often 
carried  his  rifle,  "Satan."  He  also  did  some  rowing 
on  Fresh  Pond.  Later,  when  a  student  in  the  Law 
School,  he  joined  a  class  in  riding  under  the  instruc 
tion  of  a  circus  manager.  With  his  chivalric  and 
spirited  temper  he  must  have  taken  great  pleasure  in 
this  knightly  exercise.  "He  chose  the  hardest 
horses,  practised  riding  in  every  form,  with  or  with 
out  a  saddle  or  stirrups ;  could  run,  leap,  jump  on  a 
charger  at  full  speed,  —  in  short,  perform  feats 
which  only  a  '  professional '  could  execute."  2  In  this 
study  he  probably  had  in  view  his  Oregon  Trail 
trip,  which  occurred  soon  after.  If  our  athletic 
games  had  then  been  in  vogue,  his  skill,  courage, 
coolness  and  activity  would  have  made  him  a  suc 
cessful  competitor. 

Exercise  was  of  exceptional  importance  to  Park- 
man.  His  perpetual-motion  energy  of  course  could 
not  be  denied  expenditure  without  repining  and 
irritation ;  and  his  love  of  freedom  and  activity  were 
too  strong  to  be  easily  reconciled  to  canes  and 
crutches  in  place  of  his  youthful  agility.  But  the 
matter  was  much  more  serious  than  this;  whenever, 
as  he  said,  confinement  became  unavoidable,  "  all  the 
irritability  of  the  system  centred  in  the  head."  As 
1  Wheelwright.  2  Frothingham. 


PREPARATION  131 

this  tendency,  of  all  things,  had  to  be  most  care 
fully  avoided,  exercise  was  almost  as  necessary  as 
food  or  air;  and  throughout  his  life  he  was  faithful 
to  this  requirement.  For  many  years  his  lameness 
did  not  prevent  free  walking  at  times,  nor  horseback 
exercise ;  he  used  also  to  do  what  digging  and  other 
work  he  could  in  his  garden.  Fortunately  his  arms 
remained  serviceable  till  very  near  the  close  of  his 
life,  so  that  he  could  generally  enjoy  some  form  of 
exercise  with  them.  Even  when  confined  to  his 
wheel-chair  he  would  split  wood,  hoe  in  his  garden, 
rake,  or  cut  with  a  sickle  the  grass  along  the  walks ; 
he  even  did  some  carpenter  work  in  making  jx>ot 
benches  or  other  objects  of  utility.  During  much 
of  his  latter  years  he  was  obliged  to  use  canes  or 
crutches,  and  to  carry  a  stool  when  working  in  his 
garden.  Disliking  eccentricity  of  all  kinds,  he  was 
much  annoyed  at  having  to  walk  in  the  streets  in 
his  peculiar  manner ;  yet  he  would  not  give  up  exer 
cise  and  social  intercourse  so  long  as  he  could  enjoy 
them  by  any  means  whatever.  The  pain  and  the  loss 
of  freedom  caused  by  his  lameness  led  him  for  a  time 
to  consider  amputation  of  the  leg;  but  the  relief 
hoped  for  was  too  doubtful  to  justify  the  operation. 
When  rheumatism  finally  came  in  the  shoulders 
and  stopped  the  last  of  his  out-of-door  exercises, 
he  accepted  massage,  practised  deep  breathing  and 
such  other  movements  as  could  be  executed  in  a 
chair. 

The  nature  of  the  ailments  that  afflicted  Parkman 


132  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

and  affected  so  much  his  life  and  character  must  be 
explained  somewhat  if  we  would  fully  understand 
his  struggle  for  self-mastery.  The  causes  of  his  early 
illnesses  are  enveloped  in  more  or  less  mystery. 
Although  in  his  autobiographic  letter  he  touches 
on  some  of  their  relations  to  his  literary  labors,  he 
nowhere  enters  into  detail ;  nor  do  any  of  his  friends 
seem  able  to  tell  much  about  them.  He  said  that  his 
childhood  was  neither  "healthful  nor  buoyant,"  but 
with  the  help  of  free  country  life  on  his  grand 
father's  farm,  and  the  vital  forces  of  youth,  he 
soon  outgrew  this  condition  and  acquired  a  good 
amount  of  health  and  strength.  In  college  he  was 
remarked  for  his  physical  powers  and  good  con 
dition,  —  so  much  so  that  his  friends  were  surprised 
when,  in  his  junior  year,  he  had  to  give  up  his 
studies  for  a  few  months  and  go  abroad  for  his  health. 
Nothing  very  definite  is  known  of  the  cause  of  this 
sudden  change.  Some  think  it  was  a  trouble  with 
his  eyes,  but  there  is  no  reference  to  this  in  his 
diaries  and  the  few  letters  he  wrote.  It  was  prob 
ably  as  others  intimate,  with  apparently  better  knowl 
edge,  a  trouble  of  the  heart  resulting  from  overstrain 
in  the  gymnasium  at  Harvard.  He  wrote  in  his 
diary,  on  leaving  Florence,  in  1844: 

"  After  all  I  shall  not  see  Grenada, —  at  least  for  some 
years;  thanks  to  the  cursed  injury  that  brought  me  to 
Europe;  for  as  I  find  no  great  improvement,  I  judge  it 
best  to  see  what  a  French  doctor  can  do  for  me,  instead 
of  running  about  Spain." 


PREPARATION  133 

Shortly  afterward,  when  among  the  Alps,  as  already 
noted,  he  referred  to  the  painful  beating  of  his  heart. 
This  affection,  however,  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
a  persistent  trouble ;  it  did  not  prevent  him,  even  at 
that  time,  from  walking,  climbing  mountains,  and 
ascending  cathedral  spires  as  only  a  vigorous  man  can 
do ;  and  the  malady  does  not  figure  among  the  chronic 
troubles  of  his  after  life.  There  is  no  subsequent 
mention  in  his  diaries  either  of  disease  or  medical 
treatment;  but  a  previous  writing,  a  letter  to  his 
mother  from  Rome,  April  5,  1844,  contains  this 
passage : 

"I  find  that  though  I  am  very  well  indeed  in  other 
respects,  there  has  not  been  any  great  change  in  the 
difficulty  that  brought  me  out  here.  I  am  not  alone  in 
this,  —  there  are  several  Americans  in  the  same  scrape, 
and  having  quite  as  little  success  in  getting  out  of  it. 
I  have  resolved  to  go  to  Paris  to  see  Dr.  Louis,  the  head 
of  his  profession  in  the  world,  and  see  if  he  can  do  any 
thing  for  me.  There  is  some  satisfaction  in  having  done 
the  utmost,  and  left  no  stone  unturned.  I  have  been  a 
perfect  anchorite  here, — have  given  up  wine,  etc.,  and 
live  at  present  on  forty  cents  a  day  for  provisions.  So 
if  I  do  not  thrash  the  enemy  at  last,  it  will  not  be  my 
fault." 

The  first  trouble  of  which  we  have  any  definite 
knowledge  was  the  beginning  of  an  affection  of  the 
eyes.  During  his  first  year  at  the  Law  School, 
1844-45,  he  rose  very  early  and  studied  by  candle 
light,  often  without  a  fire.  In  the  course  of  the  next 


134  A  LIFE  OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

winter,  when  confined  to  the  house  by  some  sickness, 
he  for  the  first  time  pursued  his  studies  by  listening 
to  reading. 

The  Oregon  Trail  trip  was  undertaken  partly  to 
cure  his  eyes,  partly  to  study  Indian  life.  As  an 
indication  of  his  way  of  dealing  with  illness,  we  have 
the  following  account  of  his  setting  out  from  Fort 
Laramie  : 

"I  had  been  slightly  ill  for  several  weeks,  but  on  the 
third  night  after  reaching  Fort  Laramie  a  violent  pain 
awoke  me,  and  I  found  myself  attacked  by  the  same 
disorder  that  occasioned  such  heavy  losses  to  the  army 
on  the  Rio  Grande.  In  a  day  and  a  half  I  was  reduced 
to  extreme  weakness,  so  that  I  could  not  walk  without 
pain  and  effort.  Having  within  that  time  taken  six 
grains  of  opium  without  the  least  beneficial  effect,  and 
having  no  medical  adviser,  nor  any  choice  of  diet,  I 
resolved  to  throw  myself  upon  Providence  for  recovery, 
using  without  regard  to  the  disorder  any  portion  of 
strength  that  might  remain  to  me.  So  on  the  20th  of 
June  we  set  out  from  Fort  Laramie  to  meet  the  Whirl 
wind's  village.  Though  aided  by  the  high  bow  '  Moun 
tain  Saddle7 1  could  scarcely  keep  my  seat  on  horseback."  l 

Once  cast  off  from  the  last  post  of  civilization,  and 
launched  in  the  wilderness  among  savages,  the  only 
thing  to  do  was  to  keep  up,  and  to  wear  a  brave  face. 
He  speaks  again  of  this  experience  in  his  autobio 
graphic  letter: 

1  The  Oregon  Trail,  New  Library  Edition,  p.  145. 


PREPARATION  135 

<(  Joining  the  Indians,  he  followed  their  wanderings 
for  several  weeks.  To  have  worn  the  airs  of  an  invalid 
would  certainly  have  been  an  indiscretion  since  in  that 
case  a  horse,  a  rifle,  a  pair  of  pistols,  and  a  red  shirt 
might  have  offered  temptations  too  strong  for  abori 
ginal  virtue.  Yet  to  hunt  buffalo  on  horseback,  over  a 
broken  country,  when  without  the  stimulant  of  the  chase 
he  could  scarcely  sit  upright  in  the  saddle,  was  not 
strictly  necessary  for  maintaining  the  requisite  pres 
tige.  The  sport,  however,  was  good,  and  the  faith  un- 
doubting,  that  to  tame  the  devil  it  is  best  to  take  him 
by  the  horns.7' 

The  chief  trial  on  this  trip  was  the  lack  of  digestible 
food.  He  became  worn  to  a  skeleton,  was  often 
faint  and  dizzy,  with  lack  of  nourishment,  having  to 
be  helped  into  the  saddle ;  and  his  mind  at  times  lost 
its  clearness.  The  prolonged  and  excessive  strain  of 
this  journey  under  these  conditions  permanently 
impaired  his  digestion,  thus  reducing  his  powers  to 
resist  the  development  of  disease.  In  this  way  the 
Oregon  trip  was  the  immediate  cause  of  his  infirmi 
ties,  though  some  of  them  may  have  had  their  source 
in  heredity.  Suffering  as  he  did  from  troubles  of 
digestion,  he  was  unable  to  sleep  during  the  night ; 
when  at  dawn  he  dozed  off,  exhausted,  his  guide  had 
to  call  him  to  depart.  Thus  began  the  insomnia  that 
wearied  him  persistently  all  the  rest  of  his  days. 
From  that  time  onward,  during  long  periods  of  time, 
he  would  get  but  two  or  three  hours  of  sleep  out  of 
the  twenty-four ;  he  often  had  less  than  this,  or  even 


136  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN" 

none,  and  when  four  or  five  hours  of  unconsciousness 
came,  he  enjoyed  an  unusual  blessing.  His  confi 
dence  in  nature  made  him  doubtful  of  physicians  and 
drugs,  and  gave  him  most  hope  in  the  natural  powers 
of  the  body.  Insomnia  so  prolonged  and  persistent 
was  one  of  the  greatest  of  his  physical  trials ;  it  in 
deed  seemed  that  insanity  must  at  last  result  from 
this  exhausting  and  irritating  form  of  suffering. 

Inflammation  and  weakness  of  the  eyes  naturally 
increased  with  the  decline  of  his  general  health  on 
the  Oregon  trip.  The  disease  never  afterwards  left 
him,  though  it  fluctuated  often,  and  diminished 
somewhat  as  he  grew  older.  Still  another  physical 
misfortune  was  his  to  bear:  rheumatic  gout  with 
effusion  in  one  of  the  knees.  Finally,  the  overstrain 
of  his  early  life  was  most  regrettable  in  helping  to 
develop  some  inherited  tendency  to  disorders  of  the 
brain  and  nervous  system.  His  general  troubles 
were  believed  by  the  doctors  to  "come  from  an 
abnormal  state  or  partial  paralysis  of  certain  arteries 
of  the  brain."1 

The  Oregon  Trail  trip  thus  cost  Parkman  his 
health  for  life ;  but  so  predominant  was  his  ambition, 
so  much  did  he  value  his  Indian  studies,  and  so  little 
compassion  had  he  for  his  physical  being,  that  he 
never  regretted  this  costly  but  fruitful  experience. 
From  that  time  onward  he  was  never  free  from  ill 
ness  of  some  sort.  One  or  another  of  his  maladies 
was  always  undermining  his  forces ;  making  his  per- 
i  Letter  to  Abbe  H.  R.  Casgrain,  Jan.  26,  1872. 


PREPARATION  137 

sistent  industry  and  fortitude  one  of  the  most  impres 
sive  examples  of  human  achievement  and  endurance. 
He  used  to  call  his  infirmities  "the  enemy,"  with  a 
quiet  tone  of  humor  and  patience;  the  phrase  cov 
ered  many  a  solitary  struggle  of  untold  heroism. 

The  history  of  his  health,  like  that  of  his  life, 
offers  few  incidents  of  note.  He  passed  through  at 
least  four  severe  crises  of  pain  and  disability  within 
a  period  of  twenty  years.  The  extent  of  his  suffer 
ings  is  nowhere  revealed,  only  hinted  at  in  writing; 
he  is  remembered,  however,  by  an  intimate  friend  or 
two  to  have  said  that  death  would  often  have  been  a 
welcome  end  of  his  trials.  Generally  he  passed  acute 
attacks  either  in  turning  his  thoughts  and  conversa 
tion  to  light  and  jocose  topics,  or  in  silent  and  patient 
endurance.  Once,  when  his  physician,  during  a  bad 
attack,  encouraged  him  by  saying  that  he  had  a  strong 
constitution,  Parkman  replied  quaintly,  "I'm  afraid 
I  have."  There  is  nothing  to  tell  of  these  crises 
bevond  the  patience  and  fortitude  with  which  he 
endured  them.  Sometimes,  however,  he  felt  so 
strongly  that  he  had  had  more  than  his  share  of  suf 
fering,  that  a  fresh  attack  would  cause  him  to  explode 
in  a  few  very  forcible  expressions;  then  his  quiet 
patience  soon  regained  the  mastery. 

Parkman's  pathological  conditions  and  their  rela 
tions  to  his  work  and  his  experience  were  altogether 
remarkable,  and  I  regret  not  being  able  to  go  deeper 
into  the  many  questions  they  open.  His  mysterious 
nervous  disorder,  his  physical  infirmities,  his  irre- 


138  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

pressible  mental  energy,  his  remarkable  powers  of 
will  and  of  mind  contending  for  self-mastery  and 
for  the  accomplishment  of  a  vast  amount  of  labor,  - 
such  a  life  and  character  offered  to  both  physiologist 
and  psychologist  a  study  of  exceptional  complexity 
and  interest. 


II 

PARKMAN   AS   SEEN  IN   HIS   WORKS 


CHAPTER   VII 

DESPITE  his  reserve,  Parkman's  individuality 
stands  forth  most  impressively  in  his  work.  He 
should  have  been  a  knight  of  the  Round  Table ;  few 
men  would  have  surpassed  him  in  skill  at  arms,  in 
courage,  in  doughty  deeds,  in  gallant  courtesy,  in 
fidelity  in  friendship  and  service,  or  in  winning 
favors  from  fair  women.  His  chivalrous  spirit,  his 
martial  bearing  when  on  horseback,  even  his  per 
son  seem  to  be  embodied  in  the  finest  equestrian 
statue  in  Venice,  that  of  Condottiere  Colleoni.  Park- 
man  was  much  attracted  to  this  work;  when  in 
Venice  he  often  went  to  see  it,  and  he  had  photo 
graphs  of  it  on  the  walls  of  his  study.  He  may  have 
felt  a  certain  degree  of  spiritual  kinship  with  this 
celebrated  soldier,  and  liked  in  fancy  to  return  to 
the  times  when  his  own  manly  nature  would  have 
found  free  exercise  in  chivalrous  accomplishments 
and  martial  achievements.  His  chivalrous  turn  of 
mind  was  shown  in  his  school  days,  when  he  para- 


140  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

phrased  parts  of  the  ^Eneid  and  turned  into  verse  the 
tournament  scene  in  "Ivanhoe."  But,  born  in  the 
nineteenth  century,  he  had  to  content  himself  with 
choosing  for  a  literary  theme  the  most  adventurous 
epoch  of  American  history,  and  living  by  his  imagi 
native  sympathy  in  those  experiences. 

In  considering  Parkman  as  an  historian  I  shall 
not  depart  from  the  principal  aim  of  this  memoir, 
which  is  to  portray  his  personality.  We  shall  there 
fore  consider  his  books  not  as  histories  or  literature, 
but  rather  as  a  mirror  reflecting  the  author's  own 
character.  Nothing  about  him  was  more  interesting 
and  important  than  his  intimate  relations  with  his 
work.  He  enjoyed  the  rare  blessing  of  harmony 
between  his  theme,  his  culture,  his  life,  and  his 
individuality.  Loving  his  subject  as  he  did,  he 
truly  lived  in  the  writing  of  his  books.  His  methods 
of  working  under  immense  disabilities  were  so  char 
acteristic  of  the  man  that  the  lesson  of  his  persever 
ance  and  success  cannot  be  too  widely  known.  We 
shall  do  well  to  glance  once  more  at  his  personal 
qualities,  his  education,  his  life,  and  his  labors,  the 
better  to  get  a  reflection  of  the  man  in  his  artistic 
products. 

We  have  seen  that  from  the  start  he  directed  his 
education  so  as  to  cover  all  needs  and  topics  con 
nected  with  his  theme ;  as  he  said,  writing  of  himself 
in  the  third  person,  he  "  entered  upon  a  training  well 
fitted  to  serve  his  purpose,  slighted  all  college  studies 
which  could  not  promote  it,  and  pursued  with  avidity 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN   HIS  WORKS         141 

such  as  had  a  bearing  upon  it  however  remote.  His 
reliance,  however,  was  less  on  books  than  on  such 
personal  experience  as  should  in  some  sense  identify 
him  with  his  theme."1 

Here  we  touch  the  most  influential  force  in  his 
preparation  and  method,  —  the  very  law  of  gravita 
tion  of  his  system.  He  early  saw  and  obeyed  the 
principle  that  the  artist  must  seek  the  closest  sym 
pathy  with  his  subject  by  knowledge,  skill,  and  feel 
ing.  And  he  set  out  at  once  to  attain  this  sympathy, 
both  ideal  and  utilitarian,  by  two  lines  of  effort  —  (1) 
by  personal  experience  and  observation  of  the  ele 
ments  of  his  subject;  (2)  by  an  exhaustive  examina 
tion  of  documents. 

1.  His  personal  experiences,  despite  the  fact  that 
he  had  to  do  with  times  long  past,  brought  him  in 
contact  with  many  objective  elements  of  his  theme. 
As  we  have  seen,  he  began  even  as  a  child  to  become 
familiar  with  nature,  and  as  years  rolled  on  he  in 
creased  this  intimacy  by  some  study  of  the  natural 
sciences,  by  much  observation  in  the  pursuit  of  his 
recreations  in  the  woods,  and  by  travel,  which  culti 
vated  his  eye  for  the  larger  and  more  pictorial  aspects 
of  nature. 

He  visited  all  the  important  localities  connected 
with  his  narratives,  and  this  study  of  historic  scenes 
did  something  more  than  fit  him  for  describing  mili 
tary  movements;  it  enabled  him  to  give  his  work  its 
remarkable  realism.  Genuine  artist  that  he  was,  he 

1  Autobiography,  pp.  351-352. 


142  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

first  seized  the  large  features  of  a  scene,  its  atmos 
phere,  its  light,  thus  getting  his  backgrounds;  then 
added  the  details,  of  soil  and  rocks,  trees  and  flowers, 
birds  and  beasts  peculiar  to  the  region.  His  love  of 
the  vivid,  the  strong,  the  effective,  was  always  guided 
by  the  desire  of  accurate  knowledge.  He  must  have 
had  a  remarkable  sureness  of  glance,  of  judgment  in 
selection,  and  of  memory;  for  a  few  meagre  notes 
sufficed  in  subsequent  years  to  recall  the  main 
features  and  details  of  scenes  so  accurately  that  they 
appear  in  his  volumes  as  if  drawn  fresh  from  life. 
Knowing  that  his  imagination  depended  on  facts  for 
its  impetus,  he  gave  free  play  to  his  tastes  in  study 
ing  his  theme  on  its  own  ground,  delighting  in  expe 
riencing,  as  far  as  possible,  the  same  hardships  and 
adventures  that  were  met  by  the  discoverers,  the  war 
parties,  the  fur  traders,  and  the  missionaries  of  early 
times.  The  frontiersman  interested  him  in  his  jour 
neys  about  the  wilds  of  New  England  and  the  West; 
the  hardy  pioneer  in  his  log  cabin  in  the  stump- 
dotted  field  surrounded  by  the  forest,  made  him 
realize  the  strenuous  and  pathetic  struggle  of  the 
family  there  for  a  livelihood;  and  he  had  but  to 
imagine  Indians  lurking  under  the  trees  to  feel  all 
the  horrors  of  French  and  Indian  massacres. 

Unquestionably,  the  most  important  element  of  his 
objective  study  and  experience  was  his  observation  of 
Indian  life  and  character.  Without  an  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  red  man  he  would  have  failed  in 
some  of  the  principal  figures  of  his  compositions. 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         143 

His  first  contact  with  the  Indian  is  mentioned  in  his 
"Half  Century."  In  1835  or  1836  a  party  of  chiefs 
and  warriors  of  the  Sacs  and  Foxes  visited  Boston, 
and,  as  he  says,  "  danced  a  war-dance  on  the  Common 
in  full  costume,  to  the  delight  of  the  boy  spectators, 
of  whom  I  was  one."  l  Soon  after  this  his  interest  was 
more  deeply  stirred  by  reading  Cooper;  as  early  as 
1841  he  had  become  so  identified  with  the  novelist's 
red  heroes  that  he  dreamed  of  them,  talked  of  them 
more  than  of  anything  else,  emulated  them  in  wood 
craft  when  on  his  walks  and  his  longer  vacation  jour 
neys,  often  in  the  full  flow  of  his  enthusiasm  whooping 
and  jumping  about  and  imitating  the  calls  of  wild 
animals.  In  his  diary  of  that  year  occurs  this  first 
record  of  a  working  interest  in  the  subject: 

"  Mr.  Williams  offered  me  the  use  of  the  notebook  of 
his  journies  of  last  year  in  which  he  has  preserved  a  con 
siderable  number  of  Indian  legends  taken  from  the  lips  of 
Anantz,  who  is  well  versed  in  the  traditions  of  his  tribe. 
I  shall  certainly  avail  myself  of  his  offer." 

On  his  vacation  trip  of  1842,  while  at  supper  in  a 
tavern  in  Cambridge,  Vermont,  an  old  farmer  seems 
to  have  had  an  intuition  of  his  propensities : 

"  He  turned  to  me  and  asked  if  I  was  not  an  Indian! 
I  assured  him  that  I  was  not,  on  which  he  coolly  shook  his 
head  and  said  that  he  made  it  a  principle  never  to  contra 
dict  any  man.  He  did  not  consider  it  any  disgrace,  for 
his  part,  to  be  an  Indian;  he  had  known  Indians  well 

1  Half  Century,  vol.  i.  p.  333. 


144  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

edicated,  afore  now.  He  was  very  far  from  meaning  to 
offend.  He  proved,  after  all,  a  fine  old  fellow ;  his  sins 
being  all  of  ignorance.  Far  from  being  offended,  I  favored 
his  belief,  for  the  joke's  sake." 

Again,  in  1844,  we  find  him  entertaining  his  land 
lord  at  an  Italian  inn  with  tales  of  Indian  life ;  and 
one  of  his  friends  of  those  days  says :  "  His  tales  of 
border  life,  wampum,  scalps,  and  birch-bark  were 
unsurpassed  by  anything  in  Cooper."1 

Once  enlisted  in  the  study,  he  pushed  it  on  with 
his  usual  energy.  He  visited  the  remnants  of  tribes 
still  lingering  on  the  borders  of  civilization  in  New 
England,  New  York,  Pennsylvania,  Michigan,  and 
Wisconsin;  so  that  in  1845  he  could  write  to  a  cor 
respondent  that,  having  read  "almost  all  the  works 
on  the  Indians,  from  Lafitau  and  the  Jesuits  down  to 
the  autobiography  of  Blackhawk,"  he  had  arrived  at 
the  conclusion  "that  their  character  will  always 
remain  more  or  less  of  a  mystery  to  one  who  does  not 
add  practical  observations  to  his  closet  studies.  In 
fact,  I  am  more  than  half  resolved  to  devote  a  few 
months  to  visiting  the  distant  tribes." 

This  resolution  he  carried  into  effect  the  next  year, 
in  his  Oregon  Trail  journey.  He  was  well  prepared, 
both  physically  and  mentally,  for  such  an  undertak 
ing.  A  good  shot  with  the  rifle,  and  an  accomplished 
horseman,  fond  of  the  experiences,  adventures,  and 
hardships  of  a  wild  life,  he  was  ready  even  to  follow 
the  Indian  on  the  war  path.  Moreover,  his  extensive 

1  Horatio  J.  Perry's  Reminiscences. 


• 


PARKMAN   AS   SEEN  IN   HIS  WORKS         145 

reading,  and  observation  of  semi-civilized  tribes,  had 
given  him  what  knowledge  was  then  attainable,  by 
which  to  appreciate  what  he  should  see.  The  wide 
scope  of  his  interests  is  revealed  in  this  passage : 

"I  had  come  into  the  country  almost  exclusively  with 
a  view  of  observing  the  Indian  character.  Having  from 
childhood  felt  a  curiosity  on  this  subject,  and  having  failed 
completely  to  gratify  it  by  reading,  I  resolved  to  have  re 
course  to  observation.  I  wished  to  satisfy  myself  with 
regard  to  the  position  of  the  Indians  among  the  races  of 
men ;  the  vices  and  the  virtues  that  have  sprung  from  their 
innate  character  and  from  their  modes  of  life,  their  govern 
ment,  their  superstitions  and  their  domestic  situation. 
To  accomplish  my  purpose  it  was  necessary  to  live  in  the 
midst  of  a  village,  and  make  myself  an  inmate  of  one  of 
their  lodges."  * 

The  curiosity  to  which  he  alludes  was  but  a  small 
part  of  his  motives  in  making  this  perilous  journey; 
he  had  his  life  work  chiefly  in  view,  and  felt  that 
nothing  short  of  this  intimate  objective  knowledge 
could  identify  him  with  his  theme.  He  secured  by 
this  course  a  unique  position  among  American  histo 
rians,  for  the  disappearance  or  changed  condition  of 
these  tribes  now  makes  it  impossible  for  any  one  to 
enjoy  the  advantages  he  seized  with  such  wisdom. 

2.  The  more  one  knows  of  Parkman's  character 
the  more  interesting,  as  reflections  of  his  strong  per 
sonality,  do  his  labors  and  productions  become.  His 
study  of  documents  and  books  impresses  one  at  once 

1  The  Oregon  Trail,  p.  143. 
10 


146  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

with  an  idea  of  a  just,  thorough,  and  honest  mind. 
From  the  time  when  he  chose  as  his  subject  the 
"Old  French  War,"  he  naturally  gave  much  of  his 
attention  to  history;  and  soon  secured  good  standing 
in  this  department  in  Harvard.  Then,  as  told  us  in 
his  autobiographic  letter,  while  attending  the  law 
school  he  "entered  in  earnest"  on  a  course  of  general 
history.  Although  his  labors  had  regard  to  a  small 
fraction  of  the  human  race  and  a  part  of  the  earth  of 
little  value  at  that  time,  he  very  justly  looked  upon 
his  theme  as  important,  and  prepared  himself  with 
characteristic  thoroughness. 

His  originality  and  independence  were  evident  in 
his  college  days,  when  he  broke  from  the  usual 
methods  of  historical  work.  In  those  times  the  dis 
course  of  the  professor  stood  between  the  subject  and 
the  students ;  they  were  content  to  accept  a  second, 
or  even  third  dilution  of  the  truth.  But  Parkman 
soon  started  out  on  an  independent  course  through 
the  wilderness  of  American  history,  having  his  own 
ideas  as  to  equipment,  route,  and  destination,  thus 
becoming  one  (of  the  earliest  pioneers  in  the  modern 
scientific  method  of  historical  work  —  the  study  of 
comparative  history,  the  search  for  original  sources, 
and  the  continual  comparison  of  history  with  con 
temporary  life  and  character.  Even  in  his  earliest 
studies  he  rigorously  demanded  information  at  first 
hand.  In  a  general  way,  as  the  various  streams  of 
his  narrative  began  their  course  in  England,  France, 
or  Spain,  he  traced  them  to  their  beginnings  as  he 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         147 

would  a  river  in  the  wilderness ;  he  familiarized  him 
self  with  their  history,  especially  with  that  of  France 
under  Louis  XIV.,  as  far  as  the  scholarship  of  that 
day  made  it  possible,  often  mastering  details  that 
were  beyond  the  needs  of  his  special  theme.  Then 
he  soon  drew  upon  these  sources  in  more  specific 
ways.  We  have  already  seen  how  carefully  he 
studied  the  written  history  and  ethnology  of  the 
North  American  Indians,  gathering,  besides,  what 
ever  could  be  learned  of  them  by  personal  observa 
tion.  He  also  ran  through  all  the  family  papers  he 
could  find  in  New  England,  the  West,  and  in  Canada. 
His  course  of  study  in  these  lines  is  nowhere  re 
corded  ;  but  we  can  see  from  his  works  that  it  must 
have  included  many  of  the  deeper  questions  of  civili 
zation,  of  national  policies,  of  racial  peculiarities, 
of  types  of  character,  and  of  religious  aims  and 
organizations. 

Romanism,  as  the  central  force  in  Canadian  history, 
was  soon  recognized  by  Parkman  as  a  subject  of 
capital  importance.  As  early  as  1848  he  saw  that 
his  literary  undertaking  "  required  clear  impressions 
of  monastic  life,  and  of  Roman  Catholic  ecclesiasti- 
cism  in  general."  And  he  continued  throughout  his 
life  to  watch  with  great  interest  the  effects  of  this 
religion  on  personal  and  national  character.  Born 
and  bred  a  Unitarian,  but  early  escaping  from  the 
broad  limitations  of  even  this  belief,  he  was  quite  in 
different  to  sectarian  distinctions ;  or,  rather,  he  was 
antagonistic  to  religions  of  all  kinds  in  proportion  to 


148  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

their  exaltation  of  doctrine  and  ritual  above  practical 
morality  and  the  growth  of  character.  The  Roman 
Catholic  Church  repelled  him  by  her  moral  code,  her 
temporal  and  ecclesiastical  ambition,  her  superstitions 
and  supernaturalism,  and  her  denial  of  freedom  in 
mental  growth.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  his  long- 
study  of  this  mighty  system  had  an  influence  over  his 
own  development.  His  most  fundamental  traits 
were  absolutely  opposed  to  many  of  the  aims  and 
methods  of .  the  church,  though  his  love  of  truth  and 
fair  play  never  allowed  him  to  ignore  what  was 
admirable  in  the  character  or  conduct  of  her  fol 
lowers.  He  would  have  disliked  with  equal  force 
any  other  church  possessing  equal  power  for  enforc 
ing  similar  aims ;  he  had  quite  as  much  aversion  for 
many  features  of  Puritanism,  from  which  he  sprang; 
and  he  said  that  had  he  been  writing  the  history  of 
New  England,  he  would  have  criticised  the  Puritans 
as  severely  as  he  did  the  Catholic  Church  in  Canada. 
Some  interesting  glimpses  of  his  studies  in  this 
field  are  given  in  the  diaries  of  his  journey  through 
Sicily  and  Italy,  where  he  availed  himself  of  every 
opportunity  to  visit  churches,  monasteries,  and  other 
religious  institutions.  He  felt  the  need  of  under 
standing  not  the  theological  abstractions,  but  the 
principles  and  aims  of  Romanism  in  directing  a  civili 
zation;  the  spirit  and  methods  of  education  and 
monastic  life  by  which  she  moulds  the  character  of 
her  followers;  the  kind  of  men  that  she  turns  out 
from  her  institutions.  These  questions  were  among 


PARKMAN   AS   SEEN  IN   HIS  WORKS         149 

the  most  important  interests  of  his  first  journey  to 
Europe;  without  this  knowledge  he  would  have 
lacked  the  key  to  many  political  events,  and  to  the 
character  and  conduct  of  many  of  the  most  important 
personages  in  Canadian  history.  In  this  study  he 
showed  a  keenness  of  perception  and  an  impartiality 
of  judgment  very  uncommon  in  a  youth  of  twenty 
possessing  strong  adverse  convictions. 

At  Messina  he  wrote  this  generous  recognition  of 
the  good  that  may  be  derived  from  the  church's 
artistic  ritual: 

"The  church  of  the  Benedictines  is  the  noblest  edifice 
I  have  seen.  This  and  others  not  unlike  it  have  im* 
pressed  me  with  new  ideas  of  the  Catholic  religion.  Not 
exactly,  for  I  reverenced  it  before  as  the  religion  of  gen 
erations  of  brave  and  great  men,  —  but  now,  I  honor  it 
for  itself.  They  are  mistaken  who  sneer  at  its  ceremonies 
as  a  mere  mechanical  farce ;  they  have  a  powerful  and 
salutary  effect  on  the  mind.  Those  who  have  witnessed 
the  services  in  the  Benedictine  church,  and  deny  what  I 
say,  must  either  be  singularly  stupid  and  insensible  by 
nature  or  rendered  so  by  prejudice." 

Another  religious  ceremony  at  Palermo  served  at 
least  the  purpose  of  stimulating  the  growth  of  his 
imagination : 

"The  next  day  I  went  to  the  Capuchin  convent,  where 
the  holy  fathers  keep  many  thousand  mummies,  in  vaulted 
apartments  under  ground.  I  was  so  edified  by  the  in 
teresting  spectacle,  that  I  bought  a  mass  for  fifty  cents 
and  appointed  four  o'clock  the  next  morning  to  hear  it 


150  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

performed  in  the  sepulchres.  Giuseppe  waked  me  and  we 
sallied  forth.  Though  it  wanted  more  than  two  hours 
of  daylight,  many  people  were  abroad.  Fires  were  burn 
ing  outside  the  cafes  and  confectioners',  with  ragamuffins 
SLudJilles  de  joie  grouped  around  them  for  the  sake  of  the 
warmth.  The  porter  made  his  appearance  at  the  gate  of 
the  convent,  and  conducted  us  in,  where  we  found  five  or 
six  of  the  fathers  assembled  with  lamps  awaiting  the 
coming  of  the  prior.  When  all  was  ready  we  descended 
into  the  tombs.  The  mummies,  each  from  his  niche  in 
the  wall,  grinned  at  us  diabolically  as  we  passed  along. 
Several  large  cats,  kept  there  for  the  benefit  of  the  rats, 
stared  at  us  with  their  green  eyes,  and  then  tramped  off. 
When  we  got  to  the  little  chapel,  the  prior  put  off  his 
coarse  Capuchin  dress,  and  arrayed  himself  in  white 
robes  —  the  curtain  was  drawn  aside  from  the  image  of 
the  Virgin  behind  the  altar,  the  lamps  lighted,  and  the 
mass  performed.  When  all  was  over  one  of  the  fathers 
lighted  a  torch  to  show  the  catacombs  by  its  light.  Coffins 
piled  up  below,  —  men  shrunk  to  a  mere  nothing,  but 
clothed  as  they  used  to  be  above  ground,  all  ranged  along 
the  wall  on  either  hand,  — a  row  of  skulls  under  the  cor 
nices — this  made  up  the  spectacle,  which  was  rather 
disgusting.  There  were  one  or  two  children,  just  dead, 
and  a  few  men,  flung  down  in  a  corner,  waiting  for  the 
drying-up  process." 

Here  is  the  account  of  a  more  pleasing  experience 
in  a  convent  near  the  same  city : 

"  We  turned  off  to  the  left,  and  after  a  long  ride,  came 
to  the  monastery  of  San  Martino,  in  a  wild  and  sublime 
situation  among  mountains.  The  Benedictines  here  are 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IX   HIS  WORKS         151 

all  of  noble  blood.  Everything  is  on  a  scale  of  magnifi 
cence  and  luxury,  pictures,  fountains,  the  church,  the 
chapels,  the  library,  the  interminable  galleries  of  the 
enormous  building.  There  are  no  tawdry  ornaments; 
everything  is  in  good  taste;  but  for  ascetic  privations 
and  mortification  of  the  flesh,  look  elsewhere  than  at 
San  Martino.  The  fathers  were  at  the  table.  I  was 
served  with  a  dinner  of  lampreys  and  other  delicacies, 
which  a  prince  might  have  envied.  There  is  a  preserve 
of  wild  game,  a  formidable  establishment  of  cooks  and 
scullions,  a  beautiful  conversazione,  and  billiard  rooms, 
for  the  diversion  of  the  pious  devotees.  In  a  palace-like 
hall,  below  the  surface  of  the  ground,  sustained  by  col 
umns  and  arches  of  the  rich  marbles  of  Sicily,  and  lighted 
from  above,  is  a  noble  statue  of  San  Martino.  He  is  a 
young  soldier  on  horseback,  with  as  little  savor  of  the 
saint  about  him  as  any  of  his  votaries  in  this  luxurious 
monastery." 

In  Rome  he  continued  his  observations,  visited 
various  religious  institutions,  got  himself  presented 
to  the  Pope,  and  attended  all  the  ceremonies  of  Holy 
Week.  He  wrote  of  the  last :  "  These  ceremonies  of 
Holy  Week,  about  which  so  much  is  said,  would  not 
be  worth  seeing,  were  it  not  for  the  crowd  of  people 
they  draw  together."  Outside  of  his  reading  and 
continual  observation  of  the  effects  of  Romanism  on 
character  and  conduct,  his  most  intimate  study  of  the 
system  was  made  while  spending  some  days  in  a  Pas- 
sionist  convent  in  Rome,  an  account  of  which  was 
published  in  "  Harper's  Magazine  "  for  August,  1890. 
In  it  he  refers  to  the  efforts  made  by  the  Jesuits  arid 


152  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

others  to  convert  him.  One  is  struck  by  his  fearless 
ness,  in  voluntarily  facing  their  heaviest  guns,  and 
even  putting  himself  into  their  hands  for  the  sake  of 
study.  He  wrote  this  frank  acknowledgment  of  the 
learning  that  was  brought  to  bear  on  his  heresy: 

"It  is  as  startling  to  a  ( son  of  Harvard'  to  see  the 
astounding  learning  of  these  Jesuit  Fathers,  and  the  ap 
palling  readiness  and  rapidity  with  which  they  pour  forth 
their  interminable  streams  of  argument,  as  it  would  be  to 
a  Yankee  parson  to  witness  his  whole  congregation,  with 
church,  pulpit  and  all,  shut  up  within  one  of  the  great 
columns  which  support  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's — a  thing 
which  might  assuredly  be  done." 

He  continued  his  study  and  observation  of  Roman 
ism  to  the  last,  with  increasing  aversion  for  many  of 
its  effects  on  personal  and  national  character.  While 
in  camp  in 'Canada,  in  1886,  we  read  together  Paul 
Bert's  translation  of  Gury's  Moral  Theology,  in 
which  the  wonderful  moral  code  of  the  church  is  set 
forth  as  a  practical  handbook  and  guide  for  con 
fessors.  I  see  him  now  get  up  from  his  stool  and 
stride  about,  giving  vent  in  the  most  forcible  terms 
to  his  wrath  at  such  an  organized  system  of  pardon 
ing  everything.  Yet  no  one  was  more  ready  in 
acknowledging  the  worth  of  Catholic  men  and 
women,  wherever  they  showed  themselves  as  faithful 
followers  of  the  larger  Christian  principles  of  that 
religion,  or  as  strong  enough  in  native  manliness  and 
virtue  to  resist  its  demoralizing  ecclesiastical  influ- 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS         153 

ences.  His  own  moral  earnestness  and  deep  interest 
in  all  that  helps  to  elevate  mankind  forbade  him  to 
ignore  the  good  side  of  Romanism  or  to  treat  it  in  a 
flippant  way.  The  result  is  that  while  some  Roman 
Catholic  writers  complain  of  his  severe  criticisms  and 
exposures,  others  admit  his  fairness.  And  certainly 
in  view  of  his  knowledge  of  the  system,  and  of  his 
deep-seated  temperamental  antipathy  to  much  of  it, 
he  shows  in  his  writings  a  remarkable  degree  of 
moderation  and  self-control. 

His  study  of  documents  presents  the  further  inter 
est  of  bringing  to  light  a  part  of  his  long  moral  dis 
cipline  and  many  evidences  of  the  power  of  his 
elemental  will.  Having  "  no  natural  inclinations " 
for  historical  research,  he  found  it  "  abundantly  irk 
some  and  laborious."  His  instincts  pointed  to  free 
dom  and  activity  out  of  doors,  —  a  kind  of  life  needed 
by  him  on  account  of  his  delicate  health.  More 
over,  being  financially  independent,  he  might  have 
excused  himself  for  enjoying  an  existence  of  idle 
ease,  and  also  for  shirking  extreme  demands  for 
accuracy,  because  of  the  almost  insurmountable 
obstacles  to  research  presented  by  his  weakness  of 
eyes  and  brain.  There  was  yet  another  invitation  to 
superficiality  in  his  strong  imagination  and  his  great 
love  of  the  picturesque.  It  would  have  been  easy 
for  him  to  give  rein  to  his  fancy,  and  to  paint  most 
effective  pictures  out  of  little  knowledge.  But  his 
ambition,  energy,  and  sincerity  were  more  than  suffi 
cient  against  any  such  temptations;  in  fact,  none  of 


154  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

these  circumstances  tempted  him  in  the  least.  His 
highest  satisfaction  was  in  doing  work  well ;  he  lived 
for  this  end.  Yet  the  success  he  attained  sprang 
from  something  deeper  than  the  writer's  ambition; 
—  his  persistent  industry  was  a  necessity  to  his  in 
born  energy  and  force  of  will,  while  his  scholarship 
and  accuracy  were  the  natural  result  of  deep 
sincerity. 

He  developed  very  early,  as  we  have  said,  the  his 
torian's  passion  and  skill  for  getting  at  original  docu 
ments.  It  is  told  of  him  that  when  he  was  beginning 
his  investigations  for  the  writing  of  "Pontiac,"  he 
went  to  a  relative  to  borrow  some  money  for  pur 
chasing  a  MS.  he  needed,  — his  father  being  at  the 
time  in  Europe.  This  lady  refused  to  gratify  what 
she  called  the  whim  of  a  boy;  but  he  said  that  he 
should  get  it  elsewhere,  and  so  he  did,  and  thus 
began  his  collection  of  historical  documents.  When 
possible  he  penetrated  into  the  monasteries  of  Can 
ada  for  a  sight  of  their  hidden  records,  or  obtained 
copies  of  documents  referring  to  his  subjects.  In 
his  Preface  to  the  first  edition  of  "  Pontiac  "  he  gives 
a  very  short  statement  of  his  long  labors,  an  account 
that  applies  in  a  general  way  to  his  researches  for 
the  entire  series  of  volumes: 

"  The  most  troublesome  part  of  the  task  was  the  col 
lection  of  the  necessary  documents.  These  consisted  of 
letters,  journals,  reports,  and  despatches,  scattered  among 
numerous  public  offices  and  private  families  in  Europe 
and  America.  Contemporary  newspapers,  magazines,  and 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         155 

pamphlets  have  also  been  examined,  and  careful  search 
made  for  every  book  which,  directly  or  indirectly,  might 
throw  light  upon  the  subject.  I  have  visited  the  sites  of 
all  the  principal  events  recorded  in  the  narrative,  and 
gathered  such  local  traditions  as  seemed  worthy  of 
confidence.7' 

Parkman's  personal  address  was  not  an  insignifi 
cant  part  of  his  equipment.  In  spite  of  his  reserve, 
his  frankness  and  good  breeding  inspired  confidence 
and  won  friendly  assistance  in  quarters  not  easy  of 
access ;  while  his  knowledge  of  men  was  often  most 
serviceable,  even  indispensable,  in  ranging  the  wide 
field  of  his  investigations.  He  fitted  himself  and  his 
correspondence  to  the  personal  temperament  and  the 
national  customs  of  tbe  people  with  whom  he  had 
dealings.  His  letters  to  Frenchmen  were  written  in 
excellent  French,  and  in  the  polite  forms  usual  with 
that  people.  In  all  of  them  there  is  found  a  courteous 
and  generous  recognition  of  services  rendered,  and  a 
readiness  to  reciprocate  favors.  Thus  he  was  gen 
erally  very  successful  in  approaching  both  public  and 
private  sources  of  information  on  both  continents.  It 
is  unfortunate  that  the  few  letters  he  wrote  refer  so 
seldom  to  topics  of  general  interest;  they  deal  al 
most  exclusively  with  the  details  of  the  researches 
he  directed;  nevertheless,  they  contain  some  pas 
sages  sufficiently  interesting  and  characteristic  for 
reproduction. 

The  only  serious  obstacle  met  with  in  his  researches 
was  the  refusal  of  M.  Pierre  Margry,  director  of  the 


156  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

Archives  of  the  Marine  and  Colonies  at  Paris,  to  let 
him  use  a  large  collection  of  documents  concerning 
La  Salle  and  other  explorers  of  the  West.  This 
affair  is  related  in  the  prefaces  to  "La  Salle,"  at  least 
as  far  as  Parkman  cared  to  publish  it.  His  account 
is  extremely  charitable;  for  experts  censured  M. 
Margry  very  severely  for  regarding  as  private  prop 
erty  a  collection  of  papers  obtained  largely  from  the 
documents  of  which  he  was  the  official  keeper;  and 
also  for  the  mercenary  and  "  intractable  "  spirit  with 
which  he  kept  the  truth  under  lock  and  key.  Park 
man  was  obliged  to  publish  his  volume  on  La  Salle 
without  a  sight  of  these  papers,  and  knowing  that  he 
would  probably  have  to  rewrite  portions  of  the  book. 
Yet  his  tact  and  patience  never  failed  him  through 
years  of  effort  to  see  those  documents,  which  he  at 
last  got  published  actually  for  M.  Margry's  profit  by 
means  of  an  appropriation  from  Congress.  Parkman 
in  a  letter 1  thus  refers  to  his  efforts  in  this  matter : 

"  Petitions  were  sent  in  [to  Congress]  from  the  princi 
pal  historical  societies  east  and  west,  from  professors  of 
Harvard  College,  and  other  persons  of  literary  prominence 
to  whom  I  explained  the  nature  of  the  proposed  publica 
tion.  During  the  winter  I  wrote  some  forty  letters  to 
congressmen  and  others  and  made  personal  applications  to 
various  persons  whose  influence  would  have  weight." 

When  this  effort  had  reached  a  successful  issue, 
after  so  much  trouble  that  should  never  have  arisen, 

1  To  Mr.  Harrisse. 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         157 

he  was  capable  of  writing  the  following  letter  to  M. 
Margry,  characteristically  making  light  of  his  own 
services  : 


CHER  AMI,  —  Enfin  nous  avons  de  quoi  nous 
feliciter.  La  galere  commence  a  vaguer.  Votre  derniere 
lettre  (sans  date,  suivant  votre  blamable  habitude)  m'a 
rejoui  le  coeur.  Je  vous  crie  grace  de  vos  taquineries; 
vous  m'en  avez  fait  de  belles.  N'importe;  soyez  gai  et 
gaillard  ;  riez,  plaisantez,  quand  vos  documents  seront 
publies  nous  aurons,  vous  et  moi,  de  quoi  nous  rejouir  en 
semble.  Cependant,  ecoutez  le  cerf  agile,1  qui  vous  parle 
du  fond  de  ses  forets.  Courage,  dit-il,  par  ce  collier  je 
chasse  de  la  riviere  les  canots  ennemis  qui  pourraient 
troubler  la  navigation;  je  donne  une  grande  bonace  au  lac 
qu'il  faut  traverser,  j'apaise  les  vents  et  je  tempere  la 
colere  des  eaux;  je  dissipe  tous  les  nuages;  je  vous  net- 
toie  les  oreilles  afin  que  vous  entendiez  la  voix  de  ma 
sagesse;  je  rends  les  chemins  unis  pour  vous  faire  courir 
heureus  erne  nt  a  -la  fin  de  votre  grande  entreprise.  "  2 

As  another  example  of  his  keenness  of  scent  and 
perseverance   in   hunting   down  historical  materials, 

1  Margry  's  name  for  Parkman,  on  account  of  his  rapid  step. 

2  "  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  At  last  we  may  congratulate  ourselves.    Our 
troubles  begin  to  take  wing.    Your  last  letter  (without  date,  accord 
ing  to  your  unfortunate  custom)  did   my  heart  good.     Enough  of 
your  teasing  !     You  have  given  it  to  me  heavy.    But  no  matter  ; 
make  merry  as  you  like,  laugh  and  joke,  —  when  your  documents 
are  published  we  shall  have  good  reason  to  rejoice  together.    And 
yet,  listen  to  the  agile  deer,  who  speaks  to  you  from  the  depths  of 
his  forest.     Courage,  he  says,  by  this  necklace,  I  drive  from  the 
river  the  enemy's  canoes,  which  might  interfere  with  navigation  ; 
I  calm  the  lake  that  is  to  be  crossed,  I  quiet  the  winds  and  soothe 
the  anger  of  the  waters  ;  I  blow  away  all  clouds  ;  I  clear  your  ears 


158  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

read   this   account   of    his    discovering    Montcalm's 
letters  to  Bourlamaque : 

"  Many  years  ago  I  was  informed  that  an  important 
collection  of  autograph  letters  of  the  Marquis  de  Mont- 
calm  was  in  the  possession  of  a  person  in  Paris  who 
wished  to  sell  them,  but  I  was  unable  to  find  the  slightest 
clue  to  the  person  in  question.  At  length  I  was  told  that 
the  papers  were  sold,  and  that  the  purchaser  was  said  to 
be  an  Englishman.  Beyond  this  I  could  learn  nothing. 
The  descendants  of  the  Marquis  de  Montcalm  had  heard 
of  the  existence  of  the  papers,  but  were  totally  ignorant 
into  what  hands  they  had  passed.  As  the  late  Sir  Thomas 
Philipps  was  the  greatest  collector  of  manuscripts  in  Eng 
land,  I  examined  the  catalogue  of  his  vast  collection,  biit 
made  no  discovery.  It  was  about  fifteen  ye&YS  since  I  had 
heard  of  the  existence  of  the  papers,  and  all  my  attempts 
to  view  them  had  completely  failed,  when  a  gentleman 
connected  with  the  British  Museum  kindly  offered  his  aid 
in  making  the  inquiry,  and,  in  a  few  months,  sent  me  the 
welcome  announcement  that  the  custodian  of  Sir  Thomas 
Philipps's  collection  had  informed  him  that  the  Montcalm 
letters  were  in  his  keeping,  having  been  purchased  by  Sir 
Thomas,  but  not  catalogued.  I  at  once  went  to  Chelten 
ham,  where  this  wonderful  collection  was  preserved,  and 
obtained  a  copy  of  all  the  Montcalm  letters.  They  proved 
to  be  written  to  Bourlamaque,  one  of  his  chief  officers,  and 
are  doubly  interesting  because  they  were  meant  for  no  eye 
but  his,  and  often  contain  the  injunction,  brulez  cette 
lettre,  or  brulez  toutes  mes  lettres,  which,  fortunately  for 
us,  Bourlamaque  did  not  do.  The  handwriting  of  Mont- 

tliat  you  may  hear  the  voice  of  my  wisdom ;  I  smooth  the  roads 
that  you  may  run  easily  to  the  end  of  your  great  enterprise." 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         159 

calm  is  never  very  clear,  and  these  letters  being  hastily 
written,  are  unusually  difficult  examples  of  it.  The  copy 
ist,  though  he  took  great  pains,  was  now  and  then  at  a 
loss  to  decipher  some  intricate  passage;  yet  it  is  be 
lieved  that  every  essential  part  has  been  successfully 
transcribed." 

Imagination,  judgment,  sincerity,  industry,  scholar 
ship,  and  the  faculty  of  identification  with  his  pur 
suits  were  thus  happily  united  in  Parkman,  —  partly 
by  the  constitution  of  his  temperament,  and  partly  by 
his  distinct  purpose  to  balance  the  studies  of  the 
closet  by  observation  and  experience.  He  managed 
to  see  and  feel  nearly  everything  he  had  to  describe. 
For  much  of  his  work  related  to  primitive  and  un 
changed  elements,  —  the  forest,  the  main  features  of 
historic  scenes,  the  experiences  of  woodcraft,  the 
border  life  of  pioneers,  the  fundamental  elements  of 
human  nature,  the  life  and  character  of  the  Indian 
then  still  untamed.  Gathering  together  these  still 
present  objective  remnants  of  the  past,  Parkman, 
with  his  imagination  and  his  constructive  skill,  com 
posed  historical  pictures  of  extraordinary  vividness 
and  realism.  He  identified  himself  with  his  theme 
so  completely  that  he  was  possessed  by  the  one  desire 
to  tell  his  story.  To  this  aim  he  consecrated  his 
time,  strength,  and  fortune.  And  this  purpose, 
with  some  help,  it  is  true,  from  his  philosophy  of 
historical  writing,  was  so  absorbing  that  it  almost 
buried  his  own  personal]  ty  in  his  pages ;  he  rarely 
showed  any  consciousness  of  his  own  thoughts,  feel- 


160  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

ings,  experiences  or  philosophy;  he  gave  the  story, 
and  that  only. 

In  looking  at  the  great  mass  of  manuscript  he  col 
lected  and  digested,  one  partially  realizes  by  the 
material  evidence  of  mere  bulk  how  much  he  did  for 
the  sake  of  thoroughness,  but  fully  only  when  one 
remembers  the  weakness  of  eyes  and  brain  that  in 
creased  his  labors  tenfold.  In  the  preface  to  "  A  Half 
Century  of  Conflict,"  he  thus  referred  to  his  collec 
tion  at  the  close  of  his  labors : 

"The  manuscript  material,  collected  for  the  prepara 
tion  of  the  series  now  complete,  forms  about  seventy 
volumes,  most  of  them  folios.  These  have  been  given  by 
me  from  time  to  time  to  the  Massachusetts  Historical 
Society,  in  whose  library  they  now  are,  open  to  the  ex 
amination  of  those  interested  in  the  subjects  of  which 
they  treat.  The  collection  was  begun  forty-five  years 
ago,  and  its  formation  has  been  exceedingly  slow,  having 
been  retarded  by  difficulties  which  seemed  insurmount 
able,  and  for  years  were  so  in  fact.  Hence  the  completion 
of  the  series  has  required  twice  the  time  that  would  have 
sufficed  under  less  unfavorable  conditions." 

He  spoke  in  detail  in  other  prefaces  of  the  materials 
used  in  the  preparation  of  each  volume. 

A  collection  standing  for  so  much  money  and  labor 
was,  naturally,  to  him  an  object  worthy  of  great  care. 
Moreover,  it  was  his  witness  that  he  had  fairly  and 
thoroughly  dealt  with  all  the  evidence  then  attain 
able.  In  the  interest  of  historical  truth,  and  in  the 
consciousness  of  a  duty  well  done,  he  wished  his 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         161 

papers  to  be  kept  together  in  a  place  of  safety  that 
should  be  easily  accessible  to  students.  They  were 
accordingly  given  to  the  Massachusetts  Historical 
Society,  of  Boston.1 

1  See  the  Society's  Transactions,  2nd  series,  I.  360-362 ;  III.  152, 
153;  VI.  165,  391,  392;  VII.  348,  349;  VIII.  171. 


11 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  history  of  literature  can  hardly  show  another 
writer  who  made  his  work  so  predominant  an  interest 
throughout  his  life,  who  overcame  so  many  serious 
obstacles,  or  who  worked  with  so  much  apparent 
independence  of  hindering  physical  conditions.  One 
naturally  asks,  How  did  Parkman  manage,  with  poor 
sight,  to  conduct  his  researches  ?  How  did  he  make 
his  notes?  How  did  he  write  or  dictate  his  books? 
What  kind  of  assistance  did  he  find  it  possible  to 
employ?  Then  there  is  the  larger  interest  of  his 
intellectual  processes.  What  were  his  methods  of 
planning  and  constructing  his  books  ?  What  was  his 
philosophy  of  writing  history? 

The  mechanical  means  by  which  he  overcame  the 
difficulties  besetting  all  writers  having  defective 
vision  are  easily  explained;  his  means  of  efconomiz- 
ing  and  directing  the  precarious  and  abnormal  ener 
gies  of  his  brain  are  not  so  readily  stated,  though 
they  will  be  considered  in  treating  of  his  daily  life 
and  social  habits.  His  intellectual  steps  and  pro 
cesses  of  composition  are  still  less  within  our  grasp, 
'for  he  left  very  meagre  records  of  them. 

Parkman  needed  all  his  money,  ability,  and  will 
power  to  face  the  difficulties  of  his  career.  His 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS         163 

diseases  gave  him  a  much  deeper  trial  than  physical 
suffering;  they  continually  threatened  him  with 
an  ineffectual  life,  and  a  denial  of  his  innermost 
longings.  No  one  can  estimate  the  power  he  must 
have  lost  in  the  mere  strain  of  enduring  imperfect 
digestion,  insomnia,  rheumatism,  arthritis,  nervous 
troubles.  These,  with  pains  in  the  head,  were  one 
or  the  other,  and  often  all  together,  continually  sap 
ping  his  force.  He  never  saw  a  perfectly  well  day 
during  his  entire  literary  career.  Still  less  can  we 
appreciate  how  much  power  was  lost  by  the  innumer 
able  interruptions,  the  frittering  away  of  force  in 
continually  starting  and  stopping  his  intellectual 
machinery,  and  by  the  self-control  needed  for  the 
preservation  of  his  mental  balance.  To  these  diffi 
culties  must  be  added  some  specific  disorders  that  of 
all  things  were  the  most  discouraging  to  a  historian, 
—  weakness  of  sight  and  frequent  incapacity  for  con 
secutive  and  prolonged  thought. 

While  never  losing  either  sight  or  sanity,  he  used 
his  eyes  and  his  brain  always  with  the  understanding 
that  any  excess  of  labor  or  pleasure  would  lead  to 
increased  suffering  and  possibly  to  total  disability. 
His  autobiographic  letter  states  in  simple  terms  an 
experience  not  matched  by  any  other  that  I  know  in 
literature : 

4 'During  the  past  eighteen  years  (1847-1865),  the 
state  of  his  health  has  exacted  throughout  an  extreme 
caution  in  regard  to  mental  application,  reducing  it  at 
best  within  narrow  and  precarious  limits,  and  often  pre- 


164  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

eluding  it.  Indeed,  for  two  periods,  each  of  several  years, 
any  attempt  at  bookish  occupation  would  have  been 
merely  suicidal.  A  condition  of  sight  arising  from  kin 
dred  sources  has  also  retarded  the  work,  since  it  has  never 
permitted  reading  or  writing  continuously  for  much  more 
than  five  minutes,  and  often  has  not  permitted  them  at 
all." 

He  could  not  endure  even  ordinarily  rapid  reading, 
and  at  his  best  could  work  only  two  hours  a  day, 
with  many  short  periods  of  repose.  About  ten  years 
of  his  life  were  thus  lost  from  work,  not  counting 
short  interruptions  of  days,  weeks,  and  months. 
Writing  of  this  matter  in  1886  he  said: 

"  Taking  the  last  forty  years  as  a  whole,  the  capacity 
of  literary  work  which  during  that  time  has  fallen  to  my 
share  has,  I  am  confident,  been  considerably  less  than 
a  fourth  part  of  what  it  would  have  been  under  normal 
conditions." 

In  the  face  of  all  these  difficulties  he  took  up  a 
labor  of  exceptional  magnitude,  one  that  he  estimated 
at  the  outset  would  require,  with  good  health,  about 
twenty  years.  Moreover,  he  resolved  that  nothing 
should  be  an  excuse  for  stopping  short  of  the  nearest 
possible  approach  to  finality  in  research,  or  in  exact 
ness  and  fulness  of  statement.  The  task  took  him 
fifty  years  instead  of  twenty,  and  the  thoroughness 
and  extent  of  his  work  under  such  conditions  make 
his  achievement  certainly  one  of  the  wonders  of 
literature. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN   HIS  WORKS         165 

In  trying  to  see  the  conditions  that  made  this  labor 
possible,  we  find  one  mystery  among  some  very  plain 
facts  of  character  and  culture.  We  have  already 
had  a  hint  of  the  helpful  harmony  that  existed 
between  his  theme  and  his  temperament;  we  have 
seen  how  good  sense,  pecuniary  independence,  and 
breadth  of  view  as  to  the  historian's  duties  presided 
over  his  education  and  guided  his  experience;  how 
comparative  freedom  from  family  cares  and  distrac 
tions  favored  the  concentration  of  his  strength  upon 
one  end;  how  independent  means,  an  elemental  force 
of  will,  a  happy  balance  between  the  driving  power 
of  impetuous  energy  and  courage,  and  the  regulating 
power  of  caution  and  method,  —  how  all  these,  com 
bined  with  great  self-knowledge,  enabled  him  to  pur 
sue  his  course  close  along  the  very  verge  of  disaster. 

Yet  all  these  favorable  traits  and  circumstances 
would  have  been  unavailing  had  his  physical  infirmi 
ties  produced  their  usual  effects  on  the  nervous 
system  and  the  brain.  For  the  conditions  of  the 
physical  organism  cannot  be  long  ignored,  no  matter 
what  amount  of  moral  force  may  drive  it  for  a  time. 
Parkman's  case  was  altogether  exceptional.  Putting 
aside  the  drudge  who  turns  out  his  daily  pages  of 
mediocrity,  writers  generally  find  their  greatest  dif 
ficulty  and  their  rarest  success  in  keeping  up  the 
enthusiasm  and  sensibility  that  alone  can  attune  their 
faculties  to  harmonious  creation.  But  Parkman's 
difficulty  was  not  in  arousing  but  in  restraining  his 
faculties.  His  most  intimate  literary  companion 


166  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

wrote  that  his  "maladies  intensified  his  impulses  to 
exertion  and  mental  application,  while  they  limited 
the  hours  he  could  wisely  give  to  reading  and  writ 
ing."1  Though  an  invalid,  he  was  blessed  with 
a  very  remarkable  exemption  from  an  invalid's 
lassitude.  He  had  an  "inborn  irritability  of  con 
stitution  "  as  he  said,  which  made  "  labor  a  pas 
sion  and  rest  intolerable."  His  mysterious  affection 
of  the  brain  seems  to  have  consisted  in  good  part 
of  this  spurring  force.  He  aptly  described  his 
condition  as  "that  of  a  rider  whose  horse  runs 
headlong,  the  bit  between  his  teeth,  or  of  a  locomo 
tive  built  of  indifferent  material,  under  a  head  of 
steam  too  great  for  its  strength,  hissing  at  a  score 
of  crevices,  yet  rushing  on  with  accelerating  speed 
to  the  inevitable  smash."  He  said:  "The  exclu 
sion  of  thought  demanded  an  effort  more  severe 
than  the  writer  ever  put  forth  in  any  other  cause." 
Thus  his  inability  to  work  during  many  periods 
longer  or  shorter,  was  not  due  to  mental  inertia;  it 
sprang  from  the  nervous  conditions  that  made  it  often 
imprudent  or  at  times  even  impossible  to  exercise 
the  brain.  During  half  a  century  he  thus  led  a  life 
of  repressed  activity,  with  spaces  of  complete  idle 
ness,  at  the  best  allowing  himself  but  a  brief  play  of 
his  powers.  His  self-control  was  nowhere  more  note 
worthy  than  in  this  restraint  of  the  mind.  His  abil 
ity  to  work  at  all  depended  on  the  repression  of  an 
impetuous  temperament  and  a  surplus  of  energy. 

1  Dr.  George  E.  Ellis. 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         167 

The  reasonableness  of  his  nature  is  shown  by  his 
success.  After  actual  illness  came  upon  him,  and  he 
saw  that  the  "  crushing  out "  policy  was  a  mistake  in 
dealing  with  his  maladies,  he  always  showed  great 
common  sense  and  docility  in  regulating  his  habits 
according  to  medical  advice.  But  in  one  particular 
he  persistently  refused  obedience  —  he  would  not 
give  up  his  literary  labor  wholly,  even  when  the 
doctors  forbade  it  under  threats  of  the  most  serious 
consequences;  and  when  they  told  him  to  prepare 
for  death,  he  straightway  prepared  to  write  books. 
With  this  supernormal  energy  continually  furnishing 
a  high  pressure  of  nervous  force  to  his  ambition  and 
imagination,  and  with  good  sense  controlling  and 
concentrating  his  powers  on  one  purpose,  he  was,  in 
a  measure,  independent  of  a  surplus  of  health  for 
creative  power. 

His  relations  to  his  "work  were  thus  far  from  un 
fortunate;  they  enabled  him  to  wring  many  advan 
tages  and  compensations  from  his  restrictions.  One 
may  say  even  that  his  disabilities  constrained  him 
to  reach  a  standard  not  wholly  in  accord  with  his 
natural  tendencies.  The  predominance  of  the  utili 
tarian  over  the  spiritual  in  his  temperament,  his 
eagerness,  his  love  of  the  tangible  and  effective,  all 
made  him  dislike  the  scholastic  idea  of  perfection. 
In  his  own  special  field  he  worked  under  a  driving 
desire  to  tell  his  story  and  the  whole  of  it,  and 
under  a  fear  that  his  strength  might  not  hold  out 
even  from  one  volume  to  the  next.  It  would  seem, 


168  A  LIFE  OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

therefore,  that  his  dominant  qualities  and  defects, 
and  many  of  his  circumstances  forbade  much  linger 
ing  over  his  work  in  the  love  of  artistic  perfection. 
But  fate  in  some  measure  forced  him  to  build  better 
than  he  would.  Able  when  in  medium  health  to 
visit  historic  localities,  examine  documents,  direct 
researches  and  transcriptions,  plan  his  books,  digest 
and  arrange  materials,  thus  pushing  forward  the 
easier  and  more  clerical  parts  of  his  labors,  he  was 
compelled  by  his  infirmities  to  compose  only  when  in 
his  best  condition.  Thus  he  followed  the  plainest 
requirements  of  all  who  expect  to  do  their  best, 
whether  prize-fighter  or  poet.  It  is  doubtful  that 
with  his  temperament  he  would  have  shown  this 
professional  conscientiousness  had  health  left  him 
perfect  freedom.  In  one  respect,  however,  he  com 
mended  himself  to  the  perfectionist's  pains  though 
not  to  his  spirit.  In  regard  to  accuracy  he  was  a 
worker  of  inexhaustible  patience  and  thoroughness. 
Here  no  delay,  no  trouble,  no  minutia3  appeared  to 
him  fastidious.  In  the  preface  to  "Pontiac  "  he  thus 
acknowledged  his  indebtedness  to  his  misfortunes : 

"I  am  well  convinced  that  the  authorities  have  been 
even  more  minutely  examined,  more  scrupulously  collated, 
and  more  thoroughly  digested,  than  they  would  have  been 
under  more  ordinary  circumstances."  l 

And  so  it  was  that  he  wrrung  the  greatest  compen 
sation  from  adversity.  One  day  in  1886,  in  talking 

1  Pontiac,  p.  xii. 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS          169 

of  his  books,  I  expressed,  in  a  few  words,  my  admira 
tion  for  them,  and  my  hope  that  he  would  be  able  to 
complete  the  series.  To  my  surprise  he  replied,  with 
a  tone  of  firmness  arid  some  reserved  meaning  quite 
mysterious  to  me:  "That  doesn't  matter  much."  I 
felt  that  I  ought  not  to  question  him ;  and  in  recall 
ing  the  remark  often  since  then,  I  have  not  been  able 
to  find  a  place  for  it  in  his  character  or  his  strenuous 
efforts,  so  long  continued.  Possibly  he  felt  that  he 
had  already  done  enough  work  under  such  trials  to 
prove  his  valor.  And  although  nothing  would  have 
got  from  him  any  expression  of  the  thought,  self- 
justification  under  a  life  so  burdened  with  inactivi 
ties  must  have  been  exceptionally  dear  to  one  with 
such  a  passionate  love  of  energy  and  honor. 

Did  Parkman  succeed  in  keeping  his  weakness  out 
of  his  work?  Composing  as  he  did,  very  slowly,  and 
only  in  his  best  hours,  he  almost  accomplished  this 
impossibility.  The  first  twenty  years  of  his  labors 
—  from  1847  to  1868  — •  contained  the  most  of  suffer 
ing  and  interruption;  then  during  the  next  twenty 
years  his  brain  and  his  eyes  slowly  improved  a  little, 
so  that  he  enjoyed  his  best  powers  of  thinking  and 
seeing  in  his  last  decade  of  life.  Yet  as  regards  the 
greater  number  of  its  component  elements,  the  work 
went  on  with  remarkable  independence  of  these 
fluctuations.  The  large  lines  of  construction  for 
unity  and  dramatic  effect;  the  thoroughness  of 
research;  the  digestion  of  material;  the  selection  and 
condensation  of  matter  for  rapidity  of  movement; 


170  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  accuracy  and  fulness  of  statement  —  in  all  these 
points  no  weakness  is  shown,  even  in  the  volumes 
written  during  his  worst  epochs.  Such  qualities 
could  be'  reached  by  slow  and  patient  labor.  But  the 
subtle  matter  of  style  springs  too  much  from  moods 
and  conditions  to  be  wholly  under  the  guidance  of 
skill  and  industry;  and  it  seems  to  me  that  some 
reflection  of  his  condition  may  be  seen  in  his  books. 
"Pontiac,"  for  example,  is  fascinating  not  only  by 
its  vigorous  picturesqueness,  but  also  for  the  color, 
flow,  and  fervor  of  its  diction.  Although  produced 
under  great  difficulties,  it  was  written  before  he  had 
been  permanently  affected  by  his  hard  experience. 
His  mental  habits  and  creative  faculties  had  not  then 
suffered  from  the  effects  of  physical  infirmities,  con 
tinual  interruptions,  remouldings  of  self  to  meet  new 
conditions,  and  the  strain  of  prolonged  efforts  for 
self-control.  The  wonder  is  that  he  escaped  so  well 
in  subsequent  volumes  the  inevitable  effects  of  his 
condition. 

The  mechanical  and  clerical  details  of  his  method 
of  working  may  be  easily  described.  Extreme  sensi 
tiveness  of  sight  obliged  him  to  employ  the  eyes  of 
others  for  almost  all  his  reading  and  writing.  In  his 
researches  abroad  he  would  take  some  educated  man 
with  him  to  a  library,  spending  as  many  hours  a  day 
as  his  strength  allowed  in  listening  to  the  reading  of 
documents,  and  in  noting  what  he  should  need  for 
subsequent  and  more  thorough  study  of  a  subject. 
These  labors  of  the  book- worm,  "abundantly  irk- 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN   HIS  WORKS         171 

some,"  as  he  acknowledged  them  to  be  under  any 
circumstances,  were  especially  wearisome  when  using 
other  men's  eyes  for  hunting  through  historical  hay 
stacks  for  possible  needles.  With  his  own  eyes  he 
could  have  gleaned  with  a  glance,  but  now  he  must 
listen  to  every  paragraph  for  fear  of  losing  in  some  un 
important  and  tedious  paper  a  desirable  item  or  refer 
ence.  Then  to  avoid  continually  crossing  the  sea  he 
must  examine  with  care  a  large  range  of  subjects  in 
each  visit ;  he  must  consider  not  only  all  the  points 
concerning  a  given  epoch,  but  also  the  bearing  of 
these  details  on  the  larger  interests  of  his  whole 
series.  But  whatever  his  condition  or  the  severity 
of  the  task  might  be,  he  never  shirked  the  pursuit 
of  every  clue  and  the  examination  of  every  original 
source  of  information,  nor  depended  on  another's 
judgment  in  any  important  matter.  He  always  held 
his  subject  in  the  firmest  grasp,  and  directed  his 
assistants  with  a  clear  knowledge  and  a  firm  hand. 
Under  such  disabilities  for  writing  he  naturally 
took  as  few  notes  as  possible,  and  developed  a  very 
retentive  memory.  As  the  sensitiveness  of  his  eyes 
often  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  look  at  paper 
while  writing,  he  caused  to  be  constructed  what  he 
called  his  "gridiron."  This  simple  invention  was  an 
indispensable  companion  in  all  his  labor  up  to  the 
completion  of  "  La  Salle  "  in  1869.  After  these  first 
and  worst  twenty  years,  he  was  able  to  use  his  eyes 
enough  to  make  notes,  at  least,  without  such  a 
guide. 


172  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

Copying  and  collecting  documents  formed  an  im 
portant  division  of  his  labors.  It  was  impracticable 
for  him  to  compose  away  from  home.  His  working 
power  depended  on  the  most  careful  hygiene,  and  on 
the  help  of  assistants  far  more  devoted  and  consider 
ate  than  any  that  could  be  hired.  As  he  based  his 
works  on  original  sources,  the  most  of  which  had 
not  been  printed,  he  had  to  have  copies  made  of  a 
vast  number  of  papers.  This  expensive  process  cost 
him  a  considerable  part  of  his  fortune;  and  he  used 
to  say  that  the  income  from  his  books  would  never 
give  him  much  more  than  the  cost  of  his  preparatory 
labors.  Having  in  hand  the  lists  and  calendars  made 
in  his  own  researches,  he  could  safely  direct  the  col 
lection  of  his  materials.  He  engaged  responsible  and 
experienced  students  and  collectors  in  Canada,  Paris, 
London,  to  employ  copyists,  verify  the  accuracy  of 
their  transcriptions,  and  ship  the  manuscripts  to  him 
at  Boston.  Having  thus  collected  all  his  material 
in  his  study,  he  felt  himself  master  of  the  situa 
tion.  He  could  work  whenever  he  was  able,  and 
when  unable,  wait  for  health  to  return. 

Parkman's  characteristic  reserve  was  especially 
noticeable  in  regard  to  his  work.  He  kept  his  inner 
workshop  locked,  and  a  sign  of  "no  admittance"  on 
the  door.  The  more  literary  and  intellectual  steps 
of  his  labors  are  therefore  not  so  easily  traced  as  the 
clerical  and  mechanical  details.  There  were  among 
his  diaries,  letters,  notes,  papers,  no  skeletons  or 
guides  for  the  construction  of  his  works.  This  is  the 


PARKMAN   AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         173 

more  remarkable  from  his  knowledge  of  the  precari- 
ousness  of  his  working  powers,  and  his  experience  of 
frequent  and  long  interruptions.  Fourteen  years 
passed  between  the  production  of  "Pontiac"  and  of 
"The  Pioneers,"  —ten  of  them  in  absolute  separation 
from  his  labor;  while  other  interruptions,  long  or 
short,  continually  broke  up  the  course  of  his  thought. 
His  progress  at  best  was  made  by  short  steps  under 
such  distracting  conditions  that  a  detailed  chart  of 
his  course  would  seem  to  have  been  indispensable. 
Yet  there  is  no  evidence  that  he  ever  had  such  guides 
on  paper.  Once,  however,  he  communicated  to  a 
friend l  at  least  a  general  intention  concerning  "  Mont- 
calm  and  Wolfe  " : 

"  Le  plan  de  mon  ouvrage  sur  la  guerre  de  1755-63 
n'est  pas  encore  arrete,  mais  en  vue  des  dangers  qui 
menacent  toujours  les  monuments  historiques  dans  ce 
beau  volcan  qu'on  appelle  Paris,  je  voudrais  bien  avoir 
entre  les  mains  la  partie  la  plus  essentielle  des  documents 
qui  regardent  ces  evenements.  J'essayerai  peut-etre 
d'ecrire  1'histoire  de  la  guerre  depuis  son  commencement  j 
peut-etre  je  me  bornerai  a  la  periode  comprise  entre 
1'arrivee  de  Montcalm  et  sa  mort,  faisant  du  grand  mar 
quis  la  figure  centrale  de  la  piece,  et  groupant  les  evene- 
ments  autour  de  lui.  Ce  plan  me  semble  etre  le  plus 
simple  et  le  plus  dramatique,  mais  il  demande  des  ren- 
seignements  les  plus  etendus  et  les  plus  intimes  sur  les 
aniiees  dont  il  est  question."  2 

1  M.  Pierre  Margry,  no  date. 

-  Translation:  "The  plan  of  my  work  on  the  war  of  1755-63  is 
not  yet  determined,  but  in  view  of  the  dangers  that  always  threaten 


174  A    LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Despite  the  absence  of  much  that  we  fain  would 
know,  we  can  give  a  few  of  the  external  facts  con 
cerning  his  method  of  examining  documents  and 
composing  his  books.  In  beginning  a  volume  he  had 
all  the  documents  concerning  it  read  to  him,  the  first 
time  for  the  chief  features  of  the  subject.  While 
this  reading  was  in  progress  he  made,  now  and  then, 
a  short  note,  or  walked  over  from  his  shady  corner 
to  where  the  reader  sat  in  the  light,  to  mark  a  pas 
sage  for  future  reference.  The  margins  of  his 
volumes  of  documents  contain  almost  no  writing,  — 
merely  crosses,  double  crosses,  and  vertical  lines  in 
red  pencil.  He  could  not  listen  to  this  reading  for 
more  than  an  hour  or  two  per  day  in  even  his  best 
health,  and  with  the  help  of  frequent  rests,  requiring 
in  the  reader  a  quiet  manner,  a  low  voice,  and  a  slow 
pace.  Having  very  rarely  sight  and  strength  enough 
to  work  at  stated  times,  he  seldom  kept  a  salaried 
amanuensis.  His  assistant  was  generally  some  mem 
ber  of  his  household;  at  other  times  he  employed  a 
pupil  from  the  public  school.  As  most  of  his  mate 
rial  was  in  French,  of  which  the  pupil  was  ignorant, 
and  in  old  French  at  that,  the  reading  often  seemed 

historical  monuments  in  the  splendid  volcano  named  Paris,  I 
should  like  to  have  in  hand  the  most  essential  portion  of  the  doc 
uments  concerning  those  events.  Perhaps  I  shall  try  to  write  the 
history  of  the  war  from  its  beginning;  perhaps  I  shall  confine 
myself  to  the  period  comprised  between  the  arrival  of  Montcalm 
and  his  death,  making  the  great  marquis  the  central  figure  of  the 
composition,  and  grouping  events  about  him.  This  plan  seems  to 
me  the  simplest  and  the  most  dramatic,  but  it  demands  the  most 
intimate  and  extensive  knowledge  of  that  epoch." 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         175 

anything  but  the  accurate  and  serious  information  re 
quired  by  a  historian.  Then  came  a  second  reading, 
during  which  he  noted  accessory  matters  and  details 
of  the  story ;  and  sometimes  a  third  examination  was 
needed  of  portions  of  his  great  mass  of  documents. 
By  this  slow  method  he  acquired  perfect  possession 
of  the  materials  needed  for  a  volume.  He  then  set 
to  work  at  composition,  always  finishing  one  volume 
before  touching  another.  His  inability  to  compose 
rapidly,  as  we  have  already  seen,  offered  some  very 
valuable  compensations  for  difficulties  and  delays. 
It  forced  him  to  consider  well  his  plan,  to  digest  his 
material  thoroughly ;  and  by  keeping  him  living  for 
some  time  in  each  part  of  his  subject  as  he  went 
along,  secured  freedom  and  leisure  for  the  exercise  of 
both  imagination  and  judgment. 

In  the  long  hours  of  enforced  solitude  and  idleness 
in  the  subdued  light  of  his  study,  or  during  his 
sleepless  nights,  his  subject  pressed  upon  him  with 
the  insistence  of  an  absorbing  interest.  It  is  easy  to 
understand  that  his  hardest  effort  was  to  keep  his 
mind  at  rest.  Few  men  could  have  sustained  their 
interest  and  power  under  such  tedious  delays;  but 
he  had  precisely  the  faculties  needed  to  meet  the 
situation,  —  breadth  and  firmness  of  grasp  for  details 
and  general  lines,  a  retentive  memory,  great  construc 
tive  skill,  and  a  vivid  imagination,  —  the  whole 
driven  by  supernormal  energy.  When  it  came  to 
writing  or  dictating  the  book,  he  had  each  day's  pro 
duction  already  arranged,  probably  some  of  it  com- 


176  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

posed  and  memorized.  He  dictated  at  a  moderate 
pace  —  sometimes  holding  a  few  notes  in  his  hand  — 
without  hesitation  and  with  a  degree  of  finish  sel 
dom  requiring  any  correction.  At  the  close  of  the 
morning  he  would  listen  to  what  had  been  written 
down,  and  make  necessary  changes.  During  the  day 
he  would  look  over  the  composition,  for  he  never 
failed  to  verify  his  citations  and  authorities  himself, 
or  to  paste  with  his  own  hand  his  notes  on  the  bot 
tom  of  the  pages.  The  only  record  of  his  methodical 
habits  of  working  is  the  orderly  arrangement  of  his 
papers  in  bound  volumes,  and  the  presence  of  the 
word  "used"  written  on  each  paper  when  he  had 
taken  its  substance.  But  although  methodical,  he 
was  never  fastidious  or  finical.  He  marched  on  as 
well  as  he  could,  with  his  mind  on  large,  practical, 
and  tangible  results  more  than  on  niceties  of  method 
or  execution. 

His  amanuenses  still  speak  of  their  wonder  in  wit 
nessing  the  creation  of  his  books.  It  must  have 
been,  indeed,  interesting  to  watch  the  transformation 
operated  by  the  magic  of  his  imagination,  —  the  liv 
ing  characters  and  real  scenes  suddenly  brought  forth 
from  dry  and  disconnected  facts  read  to  him  in  bits 
for  months,  or  even  years.  One  could  hardly  get  a 
more  intimate  contact  with  the  artistic  faculty,  at 
least  in  its  activities  of  preparation  and  execution. 
During  the  last  few  years  of  his  life  his  eyes  allowed 
him  to  write  quite  freely  for  very  short  periods  of 
time.  Thus  he  was  able  to  write  out  by  himself, 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS         177 

with  pencil  on  orange  colored  paper,  the  greater  part 
of  his  "Half  Century"  and  "Montcalm  and  Wolfe." 
This  manuscript  shows  very  few  corrections.  He 
had  become  master  of  a  fluent,  chaste,  and  simple 
diction. 

His  method  cannot  be  dismissed  without  referring 
to  his  exceptional  efforts  for  accuracy,  though  we 
can  say  but  little  concerning  his  special  means  of 
attaining  this  marked  characteristic  of  his  work. 
Proofs  enough  of  his  efforts  are  seen  in  his  pages  and 
in  the  collection  of  documents  he  accumulated.  The 
few  letters  which  he  wrote  and  received  show  what 
pains  he  took  to  examine  every  possible  source,  both 
public  and  private,  in  America  and  Europe.  He 
was  averse,  however,  to  the  overloading  of  pages 
with  citations,  especially  those  referring  to  collateral 
and  illustrative  matter,  which  must  necessarily  pre 
dominate  "where,"  as  he  said,  "one  adhering  to 
facts  tries  to  animate  them  with  the  life  of  the 
past."  One  of  his  letters  reveals  his  pursuit  and 
careful  verification  of  detail.  He  wrote  to  an  emi 
nent  astronomer : 1 

"I  believe  there  is  a  difference  between  the  way  of 
estimating  latitude  in  the  seventeenth  century  and  now. 
Can  you  without  much  trouble  tell  me  how  this  is?  In 
1685  La  Salle  calculated  a  certain  point  on  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico  at  28°  18'.  What  would  this  correspond  to  on  a 
modern  map?  How  can  I  ascertain  if  a  comet — a  some 
what  remarkable  one  —  was  visible  from  the  site  of 

1  His  classmate,  Dr.  B.  A.  Gould,  June  26,  1868. 
12 


ITS  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Peoria,  Illinois,  in  January,  1681?  Also,  how  can  I 
ascertain  on  what  day  of  the  month  Easter  Monday, 
1680,  occurred?  I  want  the  information  to  test  the  ac 
curacy  of  certain  journals  in  my  possession." 

His  pursuit  of  the  truth  was  shown  by  his  saga 
city  and  persistence  in  ferreting  out  documents,  such 
as  the  letters  of  Montcalm  to  Bourlamaque,  for  which 
he  hunted  fifteen  years.  His  care  and  judgment  in 
weighing  evidence  are  displayed  on  every  page. 
Finally,  his  love  of  accuracy  carried  him  cheerfully 
through  the  historian's  most  trying  experience,  — 
the  revision  of  his  works.  In  writing  to  a  friend 
apropos  of  "La  Salle,"  he  stated  the  feeling  that 
animated  him  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  his 
career :  "  Should  evidence  turn  up  showing  me  to  be 
anywhere  in  error,  in  fact  or  in  judgment,  I  shall 
recant  at  once,  as  I  care  for  nothing  but  to  get  the 
truth  of  the  story."1  When  at  last  the  materials 
that  had  been  unjustly  refused  him  were  published 
through  Parkman's  own  efforts,  he  rewrote  con 
siderable  parts  of  "La  Salle"  without  complaint. 
The  revision  of  his  works  was  still  going  on  at 
the  time  of  his  death;  and  he  proposed  a  still  more 
important  revision  after  the  publication  of  "  A  Half 
Century."  Possibly  it  was  the  uncertainty  of  his 
life  and  working  power  that  led  him  to  cast  his 
subject  in  monographs,  enabling  him  to  finish  the 
work  in  pieces  as  he  went  along;  it  is  certain  that 
he  did  not  regard  his  history  as  complete.  While 

i  Letter  to  J.  G.  Shea,  Dec.  14,  1867. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         179 

each  volume  is  a  whole  in  itself,  one  notes  a  de 
ficiency  in  the  larger  lines  of  connection  with  the 
Franco-English  struggles,  and  with  the  history  of 
the  American  colonies.  He  intended  to  make  this 
connection  closer  and  more  apparent  by  remoulding 
his  monographs  into  a  continuous  narrative.  Unfor 
tunately  he  was  not  spared  to  put  these  harmonizing 
touches  to  his  work. 

Professor  Fiske,  in  speaking  of  Parkman's  perse 
verance  under  difficulties,  says: 

"  The  heroism  shown  year  after  year  in  contending  with 
physical  ailments  was  the  index  of  a  character  fit  to  be 
mated,  for  its  pertinacious  courage,  with  the  heroes  that 
live  in  his  shining  pages."  l 

1  John  Eiske.    Introductory  Essay  (1897). 


CHAPTER  IX 

ART  being  the  inevitable  revelation  of  the  soul 
producing  it,  the  artist's  character  and  productions 
serve  each  to  the  other  as  a  revealing  light.  A  study 
of  Parkman  made  from  either  his  books  or  his  life 
alone  would  be  deficient  in  some  essential  feature. 
For  his  Puritan  blood  barred  him  from  freedom  in  feel 
ing  and  utterance,  while  in  writing,  his  philosophy  of 
historical  composition  and  his  identification  with  his 
theme  ruled  out  any  explicit  expressions  of  personal 
thoughts  and  emotions.  But  no  man's  work  is  im 
personal,  if  the  analysis  be  pushed  far  enough.  We 
shall  see  that  under  the  shelter  of  Parkman's  reserve 
and  his  philosophy  of  art,  he  yet  found  more  or  less 
free  play  in  a  theme  suited  to  his  temperament. 

Parkman's  philosophy  of  historical  writing  is  a 
clear  illustration  of  the  practicalness  and  simplicity 
of  his  character.  In  this  as  in  other  things,  he  knew 
his  own  nature,  and  formed  his  aims  and  methods 
accordingly.  He  seems,  indeed,  to  have  formed  his 
philosophy  as  early  as  he  chose  his  topic ;  or  else  fol 
lowing  from  the  start  his  natural  tendencies,  he  per 
haps  worked  according  to  his  philosophy  before  it  was 
formulated.  His  writings  cannot  be  divided  into 


PARKMAN   AS   SEEN  IN   HIS   WORKS         181 

epochs  or  manners ;  for  although  his  style  developed 
with  the  gradual  improvement  of  his  taste  and  skill, 
his  work  is  a  unit  as  to  ai  us  and  method. 

His  philosophy  is  nowhere  stated  in  clear  terms. 
He  had  no  inclination  to  reveal  his  creed;  and  his 
theme  rarely  demanded  more  than  simple  narration 
and  description.  As  every  artist,  however,  derives 
his  working  formula  from  his  tastes  and  beliefs,  so 
Parkman's  philosophy  of  writing  necessarily  sprang 
from  his  philosophy  of  life.  We  can  judge,  therefore, 
of  the  invisible  foundations  of  his  historical  structure 
both  from  his  general  attitude  towards  civilization 
and  the  incidental  revelations  of  his  pages.  From 
these  data  it  seems  to  me  that  his  deepest  interest  in 
history  was  embodied  in  the  question :  What  kind 
of  men  and  women  did  a  given  civilization  produce  ? 
Surely  no  interest  can  be  compared  for  importance  to 
this  study  of  the  growth  of  individual  and  national 
character. 

But  his  edifice  rests  also  on  desires  and  purposes 
that  are  more  evident  and  above-ground.  He  built 
on  these  four  cornerstones:  (1)  Sincerity;  never 
stopping  short  of  the  utmost  thoroughness  and  im 
partiality.  (2)  Industry;  which  must  not  fail  be 
fore  any  amount  of  labor  and  hindrances.  (3) 
Scholarship ;  which  must  embrace  a  knowledge  of 
topics  that  are  even  remotely  connected  with  his 
theme.  (4)  Identification  with  his  theme.  The 
general  spirit  in  which  he  worked  is  clearly  set  forth 
in  these  golden  words : 


182  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

"  Faithfulness  to  the  truth  of  history  involves  far  more 
than  a  research,  however  patient  and  scrupulous,  into 
special  facts.  Such  facts  may  be  detailed  with  the  most 
minute  exactness,  and  yet  the  narrative,  taken  as  a  whole, 
may  be  unmeaning  or  untrue.  The  narrator  must  seek 
to  imbue  himself  with  the  life  and  spirit  of  the  time.  He 
must  study  events  in  their  bearings  near  and  remote  ;  in 
the  character,  habits,  and  manners  of  those  who  took  part 
in  them.  He  must  be,  as  it  were,  a  sharer  or  spectator  of 
the  action  he  describes."  1 

Coming  now  to  still  more  tangible  aims,  the  work 
ing  force  of  his  method  was  the  desire  to  tell  his 
story  with  the  utmost  simplicity,  accuracy,  and  vivid 
ness.  The  various  merits  of  his  work  flowed  from 
these  aims  as  a  stream  from  its  sources.  He  believed 
that  a  history  should  be  an  artistic  creation,  having 
due  regard  to  unity,  and  with  large  purposes  sweeping 
on  to  an  effective  climax.  But  he  never  regarded  artis 
tic  aims  as  an  excuse  for  neglecting  prosaic  or  adverse 
facts,  or  for  twisting  history  into  drama.  In  striving 
to  exclude  all  that  could  be  spared,  he  was  not  led 
to  neglect  details,  even  the  most  minute.  It  is  told 
of  him  that  he  criticised  Bancroft  for  making  his 
tory  too  dignified.  With  his  frequent  vigor  of  lan 
guage  he  said,  "  Damn  the  dignity  of  history ;  straws 
are  often  the  best  materials."  His  objective  and 
practical  mind  made  him  desire  a  very  realistic 
method  of  treatment :  he  had  no  taste  for  sentiment 
or  theories. 

1  Pioneers,  p.  xiv. 


PARKMAtf  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         183 

One  of  the  most  important  features  of  his  method 
was  a  demand  for  original  sources.  He  was  one  of 
the  first  to  elevate  this  need  and  that  of  individual 
research  to  their  modern  importance,  holding  that 
the  historian  had  not  done  his  duty  until  he  had 
examined  every  known  or  discoverable  document 
relating  to  his  theme.  Parkman  not  only  desired 
the  original  record  of  an  event,  and  if  possible  one 
that  was  made  by  an  eye-witness  while  memory  and 
feeling  were  still  vivid,  but  he  wished  this  record  to 
be  given  in  its  first  state.  "In  mending  the  style 
and  orthography,  or  even  the  grammar,"  he  said,  "  one 
may  rob  a  passage  of  its  characteristic  expression,  till 
it  ceases  to  mark  the  individuality  of  the  man,  or  the 
nature  of  his  antecedents  and  surroundings."  Speak 
ing  of  the  editorial  glosses  of  the  letters  of  Dinwid- 
die,  he  referred  to  their  "  good  English  without  char 
acter,  while  as  written  they  were  bad  English  with  a 
great  deal  of  character.  The  blunders  themselves 
have  meaning,  for  Dinwiddie  was  a  blunderer,  and 
should  appear  as  such  if  he  is  to  appear  truly."  l 

His  method  of  historical  writing  included  an 
other  aim  that  was  purely  a  personal  matter  and 
very  influential  over  the  nature  of  his  works.  His 
history  has  been  criticised  as  deficient  in  philosophic 
depth;  and  to  the  casual  reader  who  gives  himself 
up  to  the  charm  of  his  picturesque  narration  and 
description,  this  criticism  may  seem  well  founded. 
His  pages  are  made  up  of  facts,  without  either 

1  Winsor,  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  May,  1894,  p.  662. 


184  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

generalizations,  sermons,  sentiments,  or  personal 
opinions.  In  explanation  of  this  unusual  reserve, 
it  has  been  suggested  that  as  generalizations  cost  a 
deal  of  hard  thinking,  he  was  deterred  by  his  dis 
orders  of  the  nervous  system  from  formulating  his 
wisdom.  This  guess  may  have  some  truth,  but  it 
seems  to  be  contradicted  by  all  we  know  of  his  men 
tal  habits,  character,  and  culture.  His  reverence  for 
hard  truth,  and  his  matter-of-fact  and  practical  turn 
of  mind  would  have  made  him  at  least  shy  of  gen 
eralizations.  The  facts  of  experience  and  observation 
rather  than  the  ideal  elements,  were  his  natural  mate 
rial.  We  have  seen  that  at  college  he  neglected  phi 
losophical  studies  and  acquired  a  very  special  rather 
than  a  broad  and  general  culture,  and  he  was  remark 
able  for  early  crystallization  of  aims,  opinions,  and 
methods.  Again  his  inability  to  read  much  would 
probably  have  curtailed  his  subsequent  excursions 
in  philosophy  had  he  looked  in  these  directions. 
It  seems,  therefore,  improbable  that  he  would  ever 
have  written  otherwise  under  any  circumstances  of 
health.  Philosophizing  on  life  may  have  seemed 
a  too  intimate  self-revelation  for  his  reserve,  even 
when  directed  to  impersonal  or  historical  topics. 

In  spite,  however,  of  this  evidence,  Parkman  really 
had  a  philosophical  side,  and  a  strongly  marked  one 
too.  We  have  seen  that  he  always  studied  individ 
ual  and  national  life  and  character  with  the  interest 
of  the  keenest  observer.  He  was  distinctly  a  serious 
student ;  he  always  impressed  people  as  a  man  of 


PARKMAN   AS   SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS         185 

wisdom.  The  facts  are  that  with  his  moral  earnest 
ness,  his  keen  perceptions,  and  his  capable  mind,  he 
was  of  necessity  a  man  of  depth  and  ability  in  those 
directions  that  were  opened  to  him  by  his  organiza 
tion.  With  little  interest  in  spiritual,  abstract,  and 
metaphysical  lines  of  thought,  he  possessed  excep 
tional  strength  and  clearness  in  other  directions.  His 
intimates  were  continually  discovering  new  veins  of 
knowledge  in  him,  especially  in  regard  to  history,  na 
ture,  and  human  nature.  It  is  difficult  to  determine 
his  limitations  in  these  fields:  the  records  of  his 
schooling  and  subsequent  reading  are  too  inade 
quate  :  and  even  if  they  were  full,  they  would  hardly 
serve  to  gauge  such  a  memory  and  such  readiness  of 
acquisition.  The  principal  element  of  his  wisdom 
was  perhaps  his  strong  common  sense ;  he  studied 
life  and  history  with  the  intelligence  of  an  intensely 
practical  man  of  scholarly  interests. 

There  were  thus  two  opposing  forces  in  him,  —  a 
philosophic  interest  in  life,  and  a  detestation  of  theo 
rizing  and  moralizing.  Parkman  wrote  as  a  non- 
philosophizing  philosopher.  As  it  happened,  I  heard 
from  him  one  day  a  statement  that  seems  authorita 
tive  as  to  both  his  general  method  and  his  practice. 
In  discussing  a  book  on  French-Canadian  life  and 
character,  he  said  to  the  author,  "  Describe  them  just 
as  they  are,  and  let  the  reader  philosophize  as  much 
as  he  likes."  "  The  Old  Regime  in  Canada  "  reveals 
most  clearly  this  rule  of  his  method.  The  volume  is 
full  of  political  philosophy  and  object  lessons  of  the 


186  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAST 

clearest  import,  though  without  either  sermons  or 
theories.  While  weighing  causes  and  effects,  he 
seldom  mentions  them,  or  formulates  any  theories  of 
growth.  His  pages  are  built  up  exclusively  of  facts ; 
but  he  presents  these  in  such  a  way  as  to  carry  their 
own  lesson.  His  work  is  just  the  opposite  of  Gar- 
neau's,  which  he  said  has  the  manner,  but  not  the 
matter,  of  a  philosophical  history. 

Parkman's  theme  was  the  deepest  joy  of  his  life. 
It  was  at  once  the  attraction  and  the  means  that  led 
him  onward  through  his  trials  to  his  intellectual  and 
moral  development.  His  practical  relations  to  it  are 
as  interesting  and  characteristic  as  his  philosophy  of 
historical  writing.  Lowell  says  that  "  one  of  the 
convincing  tests  of  genius  is  the  choice  of  a  theme  .  .  . 
In  the  instinct  that  led  him  straight  to  subjects  that 
seemed  waiting  for  him  so  long,  Mr.  Parkman  gave 
no  uncertain  proof  of  his  fitness  for  an  adequate 
treatment  of  them."  Some  have  considered  that  the 
direction  of  his  life  was  providential ;  he  himself  said 
that  it  was  governed  by  his  tastes  and  a  clear  percep 
tion,  when  still  a  mere  youth,  of  his  capacities  and 
limitations.  He  thus  told  the  story,  looking  back 
from  1878  l : 

"Vous  demandez  pourquoi  j'ai  congu  le  dessein  d'e- 
crire  1'histoire  des  Franqais  en  Amerique  ?  C'est  tout 
simple.  Dans  ma  jeunesse  j'avais  le  gout  des  lettres;  et 
j'avais  en  meme  temps  ce  des  forets,  de  la  cbasse,  des 
sauvages.  Je  frequentais  (leurs)  camps,  je  parcourais  les 

1  Letter  to  M.  Pierre  Margry,  Dec.  6,  1878. 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS         187 

bois  avec  eux,  j'y  voyageais  a  pied  et  en  canot.  C'etait 
ainsi  que  je  passais  mes  vacances.  Eh  bien,  je  corapris 
de  bonne  heure  que  ces  deux  gouts,  des  livres  et  des  forests, 
pourraient  se  reconcilier,  pourraient  meme  s'aider  recipro- 
quement,  dans  le  champ  d'histoire  Franco- Americain."  l 

He  said  again,  in  his  autobiography  (p.  351)  : 

"  Before  the  end  of  the  sophomore  year  my  various 
schemes  had  crystallized  into  a  plan  of  writing  the  story 
of  what  was  then  known  as  the  '  Old  French  War/  that 
is,  the  war  that  ended  in  the  conquest  of  Canada,  for  here, 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  the  forest  drama  was  more  stirring 
and  the  forest  stage  more  thronged  with  appropriate  actors 
than  in  any  other  passage  of  our  history.  It  was  not  till 
some  years  later  that  I  enlarged  the  plan  to  include  the 
whole  course  of  the  American  conflict  between  France  and 
England,  or,  in  other  words,  the  history  of  the  American 
forest :  for  this  was  the  light  in  which  I  regarded  it.  My 
theme  fascinated  me,  and  I  was  haunted  with  wilderness 
images  day  and  night." 

His  selection  at  that  time  did  not  seem  so  wise  as 
it  appeared  when  subsequent  success  had  justified 
it.  American  history  was  not  popular,  and  he  had 

i  Translation  : 

"  You  ask  why  I  conceived  the  purpose  of  writing  the  history  of 
the  French  in  America  ?  The  answer  is  very  simple.  In  my  youth 
I  was  fond  of  letters,  and  I  also  liked  the  forest,  shooting,  and  the 
Indians.  I  frequented  their  camps,  I  roamed  the  woods  with  them, 
I  went  shooting,  I  journeyed  on  foot  and  in  canoes.  I  passed  my 
vacations  in  this  way-  Well,  at  an  early  day  I  saw  that  these 
two  tastes,  for  books  and  for  the  forest,  could  be  reconciled,  could 
be  made  even  mutually  helpful,  in  the  field  of  Franco-American 
history/' 


188  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

to  create  a  taste  for  his  subject.  His  father,  in 
common  with  many  others,  took  little  interest  in  the 
old  French  Wars,  —  a  contest  of  bushrangers  for 
the  possession  of  a  wilderness.  Parkman  pointed 
out  that  this  conflict  was  a  very  important  event  in 
the  history  of  the  world,  since  it  decided  the  destiny 
of  a  continent.  But  his  father  continually  ignored 
or  forgot  these  excellent  reasons,  and  called  upon 
his  son  again  and  again  to  defend  his  selection.  To 
most  minds  the  subject  was  barren,  "with  spaces 
too  vast,  heroes  too  few,  and  savages  too  many." 1 
His  undertaking  was  all  the  more  uncertain  because 
of  the  unknown  nature  of  his  materials.  As  he 
said  of  these : 

"  The  field  of  the  history  was  uncultured  and  unre 
claimed,  and  the  labor  that  awaited  me  was  like  that  of 
the  border  settler,  who,  before  he  builds  his  rugged  dwell 
ing,  must  fell  the  forest  trees,  burn  the  undergrowth, 
clear  the  ground,  and  hew  the  fallen  trunks  in  due 
proportion." 

While  the  topic,  however,  presented  one  great 
source  of  possible  success  —  that  of  novelty,  —  his 
style  was  not  considered  sufficiently  artistic  to  draw 
readers  to  an  unpopular  subject.  Even  that  remark 
able  volume  "  The  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac  "  was  de 
clined  by  one  of  the  principal  publishers  of  New 
York  in  obedience  to  his  reader's  opinion  that  "  both 
the  subject  and  the  style "  would  deny  the  work 

1  Judge  John  Lowell. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         189 

any  profitable  success;  and  the  first  reception  of 
the  book  justified  this  opinion.  The  next  work, 
"Vassal!  Morton,"  was  a  failure.  Then,  after  the 
appearance  of  "Pontiac,"  which  met  with  but  a 
modicum  of  success,  Parkman's  state  of  health  kept 
him  for  ten  years  unable  to  do  any  literary  labor 
whatever.  He  thus  began  his  career  with  what 
seemed  only  moderate  talents  and  achievements,  and 
an  outlook  that  was  far  from  encouraging.  But  he 
had  a  true  estimate  of  the  possibilities  contained  in 
his  theme,  and  a  still  stronger  faith  in  his  own  rela 
tions  to  it.  When  his  wife,  in  her  affectionate  in 
terest,  asked  him  why  he  did  not  write  on  some 
European  historical  topic,  which  would  interest  the 
public,  he  answered  that  he  umust  write  what  he 
was  made  for."  His  mind  indeed  moved  as  gladly 
and  freely  in  his  chosen  literary  world  as  he  had 
moved  through  the  forest  or  over  the  prairie  in  his 
youth.  The  Franco-English  contest  was  the  last 
great  struggle  in  which  personal  valor  and  address 
triumphed  as  they  did  in  the  days  of  chivalry.  War 
had  not  then  become  a  game  played  with  long-range 
guns.  Parkman  could  throw  himself  body  and  soul 
into  this  congenial  subject ;  and  he  found  in  it  many 
interests  not  restricted  to  time  and  place.  He  had 
to  offer  the  world  a  study  of  the  last  remains  of 
primitive  society  in  the  stone  age,  —  a  picture  of  the 
life  of  the  ancestors  of  every  civilized  nation  of 
to-day ;  he  had  to  record  the  struggle  and  fall  of  the 
savage  races  before  the  civilized  powers  of  Europe, 


190  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

He  had  also  to  tell  the  longer  story  of  the  three- 
handed  conflict  between  France,  England,  and  the 
Indians  for  dominion  in  the  new  world. 

At  first  sight  his  history  seems  to  be  merely  a 
chronicle  of  the  contest ;  and  Parkman  says  in  his 
autobiography  that  in  his  earlier  years  he  regarded 
his  subject  as  the  history  of  the  American  forest. 
Thanks  to  the  scenery,  the  variety  of  races  and 
characters,  the  nature  of  events  and  experiences, 
few  epochs  in  history  excel  his  in  romance,  pictur- 
esqueness,  heroism,  and  adventure.  The  subject 
indeed  might  easily  have  demoralized  a  man  of  his 
nature  and  tastes,  and  seduced  him  to  an  undue 
expansion  of  these  alluring  elements.  But  fortu 
nately  his  theme  contained  also  many  deeper  prob 
lems,  and  called  for  self-control,  judgment,  scholar 
ship,  and  caution.  He  had  in  hand  two  opposing 
systems  of  civilization  —  that  of  feudal,  militant, 

Catholic  France   in  conflict  with  democratic,  indus- 

• 

trial,  and  Protestant  England.  He  made  this  com 
parison  from  all  points  of  view,  —  religious,  political, 
military,  social,  industrial,  educational;  he  omitted 
nothing  essential.  He  enjoyed  a  rare  happiness  — 
that  of  a  new  theme,  perfectly  fitted  to  the  artist's 
hand. 


CHAPTER  X 

WE  come  now  to  Parkman's  works ;  or  rather  we 
are  still  approaching  them  through  questions  that 
probe  to  the  centre  of  his  character.  1.  How  much 
of  the  artistic  temperament  had  he?  2.  How  far 
did  his  works  answer  the  innermost,  generative  im 
pulse  of  the  artist  to  express  and  justify  his  person 
ality?  3.  What  are  the  sources  of  the  powerful 
effect  of  his  books? 

1.  Speaking  with  certain  reservations,  Parkman 
cannot  be  called  an  artist  born.  The  love  of  beauty 
which  springs  from  keen  sense-perceptions  acting  on 
a  mind  gifted  with  spiritual  insight,  though  influen 
tial  in  some  directions,  was  not  a  general  force  per 
vading  his  personality.  Yet  nature  in  denying  him 
a  keen  appreciation  of  the  more  delicate  and  poetic 
elements  of  beauty,  or  much  interest  in  the  fine  arts, 
for  their  own  sake,  gave  him  the  fullest  enjoyment 
of  what  is  virile,  bold,  and  effective  in  the  physical 
world  and  in  literature. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  fortunate  for  him 
than  the  cultivation  of  his  taste  by  his  journeys  to 
Europe.  He  thus  recorded  his  own  sense  of  this  in 
1843-44: 


192  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

"I  have  now  been  three  or  four  weeks  in  Rome  —  have 
been  presented  to  his  Holiness  the  Pope,  have  visited 
churches,  convents,  cemeteries,  catacombs,  common  sewers, 
including  the  Cloaca  Maxima,  and  ten  thousand  works  of 
art.  This  will  I  say  of  Rome,  —  that  a  place  on  every 
account  more  interesting,  and  which  has  a  more  vivifying 
and  quickening  influence  on  the  faculties,  could  not  be 
found  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  —  or  at  least  I  should  not 
wish  to  go  to  it  if  it  could." 

But  in  spite  of  the  interest  revealed  by  this  one 
passage,  the  only  one  reflecting  much  enthusiasm  for 
the  creations  of  man,  the  beautiful  in  nature  was  far 
more  to  him.  He  scarcely  mentioned  works  of  art 
in  his  leisurely  journey  through  Italy;  but  he  de 
scribed  at  length  scenery,  men,  life,  manners  and 
customs. 

His  artistic  sensibilities  should  be  judged  chiefly 
in  connection  with  his  own  art  of  writing,  as  we  shall 
do  presently ;  yet  his  relations  to  the  other  arts  are 
not  without  interest.  Architecture,  judging  by  his 
diaries,  must  have  interested  him  most  of  all,  though 
his  references  to  it  do  not  show  any  critical  enjoy 
ment  of  its  beauties.  Here  are  the  only  passages 
that  seem  of  any  importance,  and  the  first  one,  by 
its  emphasis,  shows  plainly  that  his  tastes  lay  in  a 
different  direction: 

"  A  weary  week  of  lionizing.  I  would  not  give  a  damn 
for  all  the  churches  and  ruins  in  Rome,  —  at  least  such 
are  my  sentiments  at  present.  There  is  unbounded  sub 
limity  in  the  Coliseum  by  moonlight,  —  that  cannot  be 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         193 

denied;  St.  Peter's  too,  is  a  miracle  in  its  way, — but  I 
would  give  them  all  for  one  ride  on  horseback  among  the 
Apennines."  "The  Milan  Cathedral  is  worthy  of  Rome, 
—  I  like  it  as  well  as  St.  Peter's.'7 

After  visiting  it  from  vault  to  roof,  he  said  further : 

"  With  every  visit  the  beauty  and  majesty  of  its  hun 
dred  and  sixty  marble  columns,  of  its  rich  tombs,  its  carv 
ings,  the  rich  fretwork  of  the  roof  and  dome,  and  of  the 
windows  painted  [with]  the  histories  of  saints,  strike  you 
with  a  stronger  effect." 

Of  painting  and  sculpture  also  he  said  very  little. 
Their  chief  attraction  was  their  worth  as  human 
documents  and  historical  data;  painted  landscapes, 
even  of  the  wilderness,  were  still  less  important. 
The  gallery  of  all  Europe  that  interested  him  most 
was  that  of  Versailles,  with  its  pictures  and  statues 
of  historic  scenes  and  persons.  When  surrounded 
by  the  treasures  of  Rome,  he  found  it  worth  while 
to  make  only  this  entry  concerning  art : 

"  There  is  an  artist  here,  Overbeck,  from  Germany, 
who  is  a  man  of  wonderful  genius.  I  visited  his  studio 
to-day.  His  works  are  scarce  more  than  sketches  with  a 
pencil, — but  every  face  may  be  an  hour's  study,  and 
speaks  plainer  than  words  the  character  of  its  author's 
mind,  mild,  earnest,  and  devout  to  enthusiasm.  All  his 
subjects  are  scriptural." 

When  in  Milan,  he  found  no  more  to  say  of 
Leonardo's  "  Last  Supper,"  a  work  that  by  its  extra 
ordinary  force  and  distinctness  of  characterization 

13 


194  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

should  have   impressed  him   as   a  student   of   men 
than  this : 

" Leonardo  da  Vinci's  'Last  Supper '  is  here  —  in  the 
refectory  of  a  suppressed  convent,  — but  miserably  in 
jured,  or  rather  destroyed  by  the  dampness  of  three  cen 
turies  and  a  half.  An  old  man,  who  has  charge  of  the 
place,  told  me  that  he  was  at  the  bridge  of  Lodi  and 
was  a  sergeant  at  Marengo." 

The  stage  had  no  deep  interest  for  him.  Aside 
from  the  little  people's  theatres  at  Naples,  he  men 
tions  none  in  his  diaries,  not  even  the  Fran§ais  when 
he  was  at  Paris.  Yet  as  a  schoolboy  we  have  seen 
him  an  eager  and  successful  actor ;  and  at  the  time  of 
this  journey  he  was  very  much  given  to  the  study  of 
men.  He  seems  early  to  have  abandoned  the  histri 
onic  art  as  completely  as  he  did  chemistry.  Perhaps 
in  common  with  many  keen  observers  of  character, 
he  was  repelled  by  the  artificialities  of  theatrical  pres 
entation.  It  may  be  said,  however,  that  although 
he  was  not  a  lover  of  the  theatre,  he  would  probably 
have  gone  oftener  than  he  did  to  see  a  first-rate  actor 
or  play,  if  his  eyes  could  have  endured  bright  lights. 

Music  was  an  unknown  world  to  him ;  it  never 
attracted  him  at  any  time  of  his  life.  Yet  he  liked 
the  Fifth  Symphony,  and  he  had  one  favorite  song 
in  his  last  years,  "  Sam  Hall,"  whose  dramatic  force, 
grim  humor,  virility,  and  anti-clerical  sentiments  de 
lighted  him. 

His  appreciation  of  painting  and  the  other  fine  arts 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         195 

grew  somewhat  with  the  greater  development  of  his 
spiritual  nature.  In  the  later  part  of  his  life  he 
spent  much  of  his  enforced  idleness  in  looking  at 
illustrations  and  photographs  ;  he  enjoyed  the  perfec 
tion  of  Japanese  pictures  of  birds,  fishes,  monkeys, 
and  flowers ;  and  had  in  his  study  some  of  Barye's 
statuettes  of  animals ;  also  many  engravings  —  chiefly 
portraits  of  historic  persons.  Undoubtedly  a  part  of 
his  failure  to  develop  taste  in  these  directions  was 
due  to  his  sensitive  eyes ;  but  the  root  of  the  matter 
lay  in  his  physical  and  mental  organization. 

A  glance  at  Parkman's  relations  to  nature  will  not 
be  devoid  of  interest,  to  show  how  happily  they  con 
formed  to  his  sensuous  and  mental  sensibilities,  to 
the  aims  of  his  ambition,  and  to  the  nature  of  his  pro 
ductions.  We  have  seen  that  though  his  senses  were 
not  very  highly  developed,  his  sight  was  in  many 
ways  keen,  as  in  woodcraft  and  the  study  of  the 
natural  sciences.  In  spite  of  this,  he  had  little  ap 
preciation  of  the  more  spiritual  elements  of  beauty ; 
he  seldom  remarked  the  charm  of  colors,  forms,  or 
lines  in  graceful  composition.  Even  in  his  favorite 
pastime  of  horticulture,  his  attraction  to  flowers 
sprang  largely  from  other  things  than  their  beauty. 
The  processes  of  hybridization  and  growth,  the  won 
der  of  new  varieties,  the  vigor  and  perfection  of  a 
well  grown  specimen,  —  these  things  held  his  inter 
est.  But  he  showed  no  taste  or  care  in  the  laying 
out  of  his  garden  to  secure  pleasing  effects,  and  sel 
dom  remarked  the  beauty  of  a  flower  or  an  autumn  leaf. 


196  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

He  lacked  also  the  poet's  gift  of  sympathy  that 
connects  nature  with  humanity,  and  the  poet-natu 
ralist's  eye  for  the  inner  life  and  spirit  of  living 
creatures.  Two  of  his  strongest  characteristics  were 
love  of  the  real  and  aversion  to  the  visionary  and 
spiritual ;  and  such  a  nature  can  hardly  include  the 
poet's  capacity  for  contemplation  and  revery.  He 
loved  nature,  but  not  as  a  lover  who  sits  down 
quietly  for  intimate  communion.  He  could  not 
abide  Wordsworth  and  his  followers.  Although 
admitting  that  Thoreau  was  a  notable  man,  he  had 
little  sympathy  with  him  ;  he  felt  repelled  by  what 
he  considered  Thoreau's  eccentricities,  transcenden 
talism,  self-consciousness,  and  affectation  of  being 
natural.  Parkman's  interest  in  nature  lay  in  quite  a 
different  direction.  Were  we  to  confine  our  atten 
tion  to  the  externality  of  his  appreciation,  and  his 
need  of  a  knowledge  of  her  for  literary  reasons,  we 
should  commit  the  error  of  saying  that  he  was  more 
an  observer  than  a  lover  of  nature.  It  naturally 
follows  that  he  cared  not  at  all  for  highly  humanized 
landscapes.  The  charms  of  rural  England  are  not 
mentioned  in  his  diaries,  neither  does  he  record  any 
where  the  sight  of  picturesque  compositions  in  New 
England,  where  with  the  simplest  means  man  has 
unconsciously  made  some  of  the  most  charming  pic 
tures.  Judged  by  his  diaries  and  conversation,  he 
saw  no  beauty  in  these  rough  yet  not  wild  scenes  ; 
much  less  did  he  feel  the  subtle  connection  between 
this  beauty  and  the  pathetic,  passionate  human  expe- 


PARKMAN   AS   SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS        197 

riences  which  it  framed.  He  saw  only  the  objection 
able  effects  of  meddling  with  nature,  the  destruction 
of  his  beloved  wilderness.  He  acknowledged  in  a 
way  his  limitations,  when  descending  the  Mohawk 
Valley  in  1845  :  "I  am  getting  a  stronger  relish 
for  quiet  beauties."  We  cannot  but  respect  his  per 
fect  freedom  from  sentimentality,  and  from  the  slight 
est  pretence  of  admiring  what  he  did  not  feel. 

Along  the  lines  opened  to  him  by  his  organization 
and  his  literary  projects,  his  love  of  nature  was  very 
strong  indeed.  These  were  the  lines  that  gratified 
his  love  of  adventure  and  the  picturesque.  The 
wilderness  with  its  free  life  was  perhaps  more  to 
him  than  the  softer  charms  of  nature.  As  his 
diaries  frequently  show,  he  took  great  pleasure  in 
what  is  vast,  powerful,  savage ;  often  noting  the 
large  effects  of  light  and  atmosphere  over  a  land 
scape,  breathing  most  freely  on  a  mountain  top  sur 
rounded  by  limitless  plains,  responding  best  to  the 
roaring  life  and  irrepressible  activity  of  cataracts,  to 
the  wild  energy  of  a  storm  sweeping  over  the  prairie 
or  the  ocean.  In  spite  of  the  silence  of  the  diaries 
on  this  point,  we  know  that  his  love  of  thoroughness 
and  realism  were  gratified  in  the  natural  sciences. 
He  enjoyed  the  firmer  grasp  of  nature  to  be  had  in 
the  details  of  rocks,  soils,  trees,  plants,  and  animals ; 
—  these  things  gave  him  close  contact  with  the  actual 
life  of  the  wilderness.  He  noted  the  elements  that 
affect  life  there,  especially  the  means  of  subsistence 
and  the  exigencies  of  travel.  Lakes,  streams, 


198  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

swamps,  ranges  of  mountains,  windfalls,  tangled 
undergrowth,  laurel  thickets,  game,  and  fish,  the 
trails  of  animals  and  men  —  he  delighted  in  all  such 
features,  both  for  themselves  and  for  their  practi 
cal  connection  with  the  ever  present  object  of  his 
ambition. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  love  of  the  wilderness 
was  his  ruling  passion.  He  himself  refers  to  it  in 
his  autobiographic  paper,  saying  that  it  "  gained  full 
control  of  the  literary  pursuit  to  which  he  was  also 
addicted."  This  was  undoubtedly  true  of  him  as 
a  young  man,  but  it  seems  equally  true  that  his 
deepest  interest  in  life  and  his  greatest  enjoyment 
soon  came  to  be  centred  in  the  writing  of  history. 
It  is  surprising  that  he  should  never  once  have 
sought  the  wilderness  during  forty  years  after  his 
trip  to  the  Rocky  Mountains.  His  lameness  natu 
rally  made  travel  in  the  woods  difficult;  yet  he 
often  journeyed  far  to  collect  historic  material. 
But  it  is  probable  that  he  loved  the  adventures 
of  a  wild  life  more  than  the  wilderness  itself;  and 
therefore  neither  the  woods  nor  the  prairies  had  of 
themselves  power  to  attract  him  after  his  infirmi 
ties  denied  him  perfect  freedom  in  physical  activity. 
Certainly  he  drove  on  his  literary  labors  in  spite  of 
obstacles,  with  a  persistence,  courage,  and  energy 
that  would  have  enabled  him  frequently  to  visit 
the  wilderness  had  the  love  of  nature  been  his 
dominant  passion. 

We  who  to-day  read  his   books  are  interested  to 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         199 

see  how  admirably  his  relations  to  nature  served 
his  needs  as  a  historian.  His  scientific  knowledge 
would  not  be  called  profound  in  these  days  of 
specialists  —  it  was  chiefly  the  knowledge  of  an 
intelligent  and  keen-eyed  observer.  Yet  it  was 
more  than  sufficient  for  his  purposes,  enabling  him 
to  give  reality  to  the  scenes  of  his  history,  by  speci 
fying  the  fauna,  the  flora,  the  rocks  and  earth  of 
which  they  were  composed.  No  less  than  this  ex 
actness  and  realism  would  have  satisfied  his  stand 
ard  of  thoroughness.  The  very  externality  of  his 
relations  to  nature  was  fortunate.  The  poet's  dream 
land,  the  poet-naturalist's  humanized  scenes,  and  the 
scientific  minutiae  of  the  naturalist  would  each  have 
been  more  or  less  dangerous  interests.  What  he 
needed  was  just  what  he  had,  a  ready  feeling  for 
large  natural  forces  and  effects,  a  keen  perception  of 
the  picturesque  elements  of  a  scene,  and  a  moder 
ately  scientific  knowledge  of  the  geologic  and  botanic 
make-up  of  a  landscape. 

But  to  return  to  his  relations  to  art.  A  definite 
ambition  was  very  early  mingled  with  taste  in  his 
pursuit  of  poetry;  but  as  his  favorite  authors  were 
Scott,  Byron,  and  Cooper,  it  seems  probable  that  this 
kind  of  reading  was  chosen  to  gratify  his  love  of 
activity  and  chivalry  quite  as  much  as  his  love  of 
art.  At  all  events,  this  line  was  soon  abandoned, 
and  the  love  of  mere  beauty  in  writing  never  again 
showed  itself  as  a  notable  element  in  either  his  liter 
ary  studies  or  recreation.  Oratory  interested  him 


200  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

much  for  its  importance  in  directing  public  opinion 
in  our  democracy,  and  we  have  seen  him  an  active 
member  of  the  debating  societies  in  Harvard  College 
and  the  Law  School ;  but  there  is  no  evidence  that 
he  felt  any  special  pleasure  in  it  as  an  art.  He  sel 
dom  went  to  hear  noted  speakers  or  actors. 

His  skill  in  writing  appears  most  clearly  in  the 
structural  elements  of  composition.  He  was  always 
bent  on  large  lines  and  proportions,  in  spite  of  the 
abundance  of  details  that  he  compelled  to  contribute 
to  the  general  effect,  using  them  so  as  to  secure  great 
rapidity  of  movement.  Perhaps  the  only  interrup 
tions  of  his  admirable  dramatic  march  are  some  of 
the  more  lengthy  descriptions  of  nature.  It  was  here 
that  he  expressed  beauty  the  most  clearly.  These 
passages  show  how  beguiling  to  his  imagination  were 
the  beloved  woodland  scenes,  now  to  be  recalled 
only  in  the  shadow  of  his  study.  He  also  possessed 
a  fine  instinct  for  choosing  the  centre  of  interest 
and  getting  the  right  perspective.  Thus,  chiefly 
through  the  possession  of  strong  common  sense,  he 
became  truly  an  artist,  even  at  times  a  poet ;  but  he 
dealt  so  little  with  the  purely  aesthetic  and  spiritual 
elements  that  he  cannot  be  classed  with  poets  in 
general.  This  non-philosophizing  philosopher  wrote 
profound  history  without  generalizing ;  this  unpoet- 
ical  poet,  by  a  singular  union  of  realism  and  pictur- 
esqueness,  painted  scenes  and  told  stories  full  of 
imaginative  effect. 

Coming  now  to  a  consideration  of  his  style,  we 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         201 

find  it  everywhere  well  fitted  to  his  sincerity  of 
thought,  to  his  dominant  desire  for  vividness, 
strength,  and  clearness,  though  lacking  in  the  more 
sensuous  charms  of  diction.  In  talking  with  him 
one  day  of  the  gifts  needed  for  the  literary  profes 
sion,  he  regretted  his  unmusical  ear ;  he  seldom 
would  listen  to  authors  whose  chief  merit  lay  in 
the  charm  of  their  diction;  and,  indeed,  he  had  a 
distinct  aversion  for  the  professed  litterateur. 

There  would  seem  to  be  a  close  connection  between 
Parkman's  comparative  deficiency  in  sensuous  sensi 
bilities  and  his  frequent  use  of  high  coloring  and 
strong  language.  In  his  pronounced  taste  for  what 
is  well  emphasized  in  nature  and  in  writing,  there 
was  a  strong  contrast  to  his  love  of  quietness 
and  simplicity  in  life,  and  hatred  for  what  is  showy 
or  theatrical.  This  tendency  is  most  evident  in  his 
earlier  works  ;  and  it  is  an  interesting  fact  in  his 
growth  that  several  decades  were  required  to  reach 
the  simplicity  and  gentleness  in  style  that  distin 
guished  his  maturer  character.  Native  impetuosity 
and  love  of  action  being  denied  their  scope,  he  clothed 
the  vivid  conceptions  of  his  mental  world  with  force 
ful  terms.  In  his  diaries  of  "  The  Oregon  Trail "  the 
style  is  natural,  simple,  sometimes  plain  almost  to  bald 
ness.  But  when  with  "  Pontiac  "  he  formally  entered 
the  lists  as  historian,  something  of  his  native  simplicity 
disappeared  —  perhaps  under  the  high  pressure  of 
youthful  exuberance  and  self-confidence,  or  the  recol 
lection  of  his  rhetorical  masters.  He  himself  came  to 


202  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAtf 

consider  this  work  as  turgid  and  too  highly  colored. 
Yet  here  is  shown  in  its  highest  development  the 
chief  excellence  of  his  writing:  its  picture-painting 
quality. 

There  is  another  curious  opposition  between  the 
exuberance  of  his  style  and  his  extreme  reserve. 
With  a  sensuous  organization  which  naturally  inclined 
him  to  forcible  expression,  his  Puritan  reserve  held  in 
check  all  excess  of  sentiment  and  feeling.  Thus 
caution  modified  his  impetuosity,  making  him  a  man 
of  under-  rather  than  over-statement. 

Parkman's  love  of  strong  language,  however,  some 
times  got  free  play  in  the  intimacy  of  friendly  inter 
course.  Nothing  could  be  more  unexpected  from  this 
dignified  and  reserved  gentleman  than  his  outbursts 
of  jocose  exaggeration  and  ridicule,  touched  off  with 
a  bit  of  profanity ;  such  outbursts  were  generally 
fired  at  contemporary  men  or  measures  that  he  did 
not  approve.  His  swearing  was  ruled  by  its  defini 
tion  as  "  superfluous  profanity  ;  "  it  never  reflected 
either  vulgarity  or  any  degree  of  the  sacrilegious 
spirit.  So  far  as  I  know,  his  swearing  was  limited  to 
an  occasional  but  emphatic  damn,  and  this  expletive 
often  arose  from  nervous  irritability  more  than  from 
any  other  cause.  The  following  extract  from  his  diary, 
written  in  1844  at  Edinburgh,  shows  how  he  regarded 
the  matter : 

"  In  the  castle  are  the  regalia  of  Scotland,  the  crown, 
sword,  scepter,  and  jewels,  the  first  worn  by  Robert  Bruce 
and  all  who  succeeded  him  till  Charles  II.'s  time.  They 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN"  HIS  WORKS        203 

were  hidden  from  the  light  for  many  years.  The  soldier 
pointed  out  the  heavy  oaken  chest  where  they  lay  con 
cealed,  until  the  Scottish  nation  should  have  forgotten 
its  ancient  independence  and  become  content  under  its 
( annexation '  to  England.  I  remembered  the  scene  just 
after  the  opening  of  the  chest,  when  a  party  of  literati 
and  ladies  were  looking  at  these  insignia  of  ancient  glory, 
and  one  frivolous  fellow  lifted  the  crown  to  place  it  on  the 
head  of  a  simpering  young  lady.  '  No  !  By  God,'  ex 
claimed  Scott,  who  stood  by.  The  man  blushed  like  scar 
let  and  laid  the  crown  down.  There  is  a  power  in  a 
little  profanity  when  it  comes  from  a  moved  spirit." 

It  may  be  added  that  his  love  of  strength  for  its  own 
sake  sometimes  led  him  to  indulge  in  humorous 
exaggeration.  Moreover,  his  rules  of  damnation  were 
not  rigid,  for  he  would  now  and  then  damn  a  thing 
for  which  he  had  not  the  most  utter  contempt. 

In  the  progress  of  his  literary  career  his  prudential 
traits,  together  with  prolonged  infirmities,  imposed 
beneficial  restraints  on  his  style.  While  the  necessary 
slowness  of  composition,  much  meditation,  and  con 
tinual  practice  naturally  improved  his  taste  and  skill, 
the  fashion  of  the  times  also  moulded  him  here,  by 
changing  from  scholastic  formality  of  expression  to 
greater  freedom  and  naturalness.  But  after  all,  his 
best  powers  came  directly  from  bis  spiritual  growth, 
under  both  suffering  and  success.  Self-control, 
serenity,  and  the  more  delicate  powers  of  sjnnpathy 
had  to  come  to  him,  before  his  style  could  reflect 
them  in  the  chastened  diction  of  "  Montcalm  and 


204  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Wolfe."  He  regarded  this  volume  as  his  best  work ; 
and  certainly  it  represents  him  at  his  ripest,  after  the 
sunshine  of  success  had  permeated  his  strong  nature 
with  its  mellowing  rays. 

2.  It  is  manifest  from  what  precedes  that  Park- 
man's  books  bear  a  very  close  relation  to  his  character. 
Indeed  the  inexorable  revelations  of  every  form  of 
art  make  it  impossible  for  the  artist  to  elude  his 
autobiography ;  the  question  is  not  as  to  the  reality 
of  the  revelation,  but  who  has  the  eye  to  read  it. 
Having  as  a  key  our  personal  knowledge  of  him,  we 
may  hope  to  see  at  least  something  of  him  in  his  works, 
and  find  out  how  far  they  reveal  and  justify  his 
personality. 

Park  man's  love  of  truth  was  almost  a  religion, 
and  his  work  might  be  taken  as  the  altar  of  his  self- 
sacrifice.  In  this  cult  he  knew  no  limit  of  pains,  no 
fluctuations  of  feeling.  "  When  you  credit  me  with 
loyalty  and  honor,"  he  writes,  "  you  give  me  praise 
that  I  value  most  of  all."  1  The  honesty  of  citation 
that  has  been  remarked  in  his  pages,  is  only  a  small 
part  of  the  sincerity  of  his  work.  His  Puritan  con 
science  was  ever  on  the  watch  against  the  strong 
temptations  offered  by  the  picturesqueness  of  his 
theme  and  his  own  love  of  striking  effects ;  and 
anticipating  that  these  dangers  would  be  felt  by  the 
reader  of  his  graphic  pages,  he  gave  this  assurance 
of  his  exactness : 

"If  at  times  it  may  seem  that  range  has  been  allowed 
to  fancy,  it   is  so  in  appearance  only;  since  the  minutest 
1  To  Abbe  Casgrain,  Jan.  26,  1872. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS        205 

details  of  narrative  or  description  rest  on  authentic  docu 
ments  or  on  personal  observation."  1 

But  his  work  shows  that  love  of  truth  did  not 
stop  at  this  primary  need  of  accuracy,  of  which  we 
have  spoken  in  previous  pages.  Sincerity  with  him 
rose  to  impartiality  in  all  historical  questions,  despite 
the  strongest  prejudices  in  relation  to  contemporary 
men  and  movements.  This  apparent  inconsistency 
is  easily  explained  by  the  obvious  difference  between 
historical  and  contemporary  studies,  also  by  his 
strong  conservatism  as  regards  modern  civilization. 
It  is  rarely  possible  to  collect  all  the  evidence  in  a 
contemporary  matter,  or  to  free  it  from  the  distor 
tions  of  passion,  prejudice,  and  a  too  near  point  of 
view.  But  in  writing  history  Parkman  collected 
all  the  authorities,  weighed  the  evidence  with  ex 
ceptional  care,  coolness,  and  wisdom,  and  finally 
gave  his  opinion,  entirely  independent  of  feeling. 
His  conservatism  met  in  his  themes  little  to  call  it 
forth  in  the  expression  of  prejudices ;  but  even  if 
it  had  been  aroused,  the  completeness  of  the  evi 
dence  and  his  love  of  scholarship  and  fairness  would 
still  have  made  him  impartial.  The  following  ex 
tracts  from  a  letter  in  reply  to  a  French  Canadian 
critic  2  are  of  interest  here  : 

"I  am  an  abonn£  of  the  ' Revue  Canadienne/  and  have 
just  read  your  article  on  'The  Old  Regime,'  with  attention 
and  interest.  It  is  very  much  what  I  had  expected; 

1  Pioneers,  p.  xiv. 

2  To  Abbe  Casgrain,  May  9,  1875. 


206  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

knowing  your  views  and  the  ardor  with  which  you  em 
brace  them,  as  well  as  the  warmth  and  kindliness  of 
your  feelings.  I  could  take  issue  squarely  on  the  prin 
cipal  points  you  make,  but  it  would  make  this  letter  too 
long,  and  I  do  not  care  to  enter  into  discussions  with  a 
personal  friend  on  matters  which  he  has  so  much  at  heart. 
Moreover,  I  wish  to  preserve  an  entirely  judicial,  and 
not  controversial  frame  of  mind  on  all  that  relates  to 
Canadian  matters.  ...  I  have  also  always  declared  a 
very  cordial  dislike  of  Puritanism.  I  recognize  some 
most  respectable  and  valuable  qualities  in  the  settlers  of 
New  England,  but  do  not  think  them  or  their  system 
to  be  praised  without  great  qualifications;  and  I  would 
not  spare  criticism  if  I  had  to  write  about  them.  .  .  . 
If  you  have  mistaken  my  views,  I  could  also  point  out  a 
good  many  other  mistakes  in  your  article.  You  say  that 
I  see  Canadian  defects  through  a  microscope,  and  merits 
through  a  diminishing  glass.  The  truth  is,  I  have  sup 
pressed  a  considerable  number  of  statements  and  observa 
tions  because  I  thought  that,  while  they  would  give  pain, 
they  were  not  absolutely  necessary  to  the  illustration  of 
the  subject;  but  I  have  invariably  given  every  favorable 
testimony  I  could  find  in  any  authentic  quarter;  and 
after  I  had  finished  the  volume  I  made  careful  search  in 
Ferland  and  Garneau  to  see  if  they  had  discovered  any 
thing  which  had  escaped  me.  The  materials  of  Canadian 
history,  it  is  true,  proceed  almost  entirely  from  the  pens 
of  persons  born  and  bred  in  France  —  for  the  Canadians 
themselves  wrote  very  little  indeed,  but  only  a  very  few 
of  these  persons  wrote  in  an  adverse  spirit.  Wherever 
it  was  possible,  I  have  used  their  own  language.  .  .  . 
In  exhibiting  the  different  workings  of  two  political 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS        207 

systems,  it  was  necessary  to  make  comparisons  which  seem 
invidious;  but  these  comparisons  are  not,  as  you  say, 
continual;  for  they  are  confined  to  three  or  four  pages 
at  the  end  of  the  hook,  and  the  points  of  military  effi 
ciency  on  which  the  system  of  authority  had  advantages 
are  fully  exhibited.  ...  I  am  well  on  in  the  story  of 
Frontenac,  whose  good  and  bad  traits  I  shall  endeavor, 
after  my  custom,  to  exhibit  clearly.  Perhaps,  when  you 
read  what  I  have  written,  you  will  not  think  me  so 
partial  after  all.'7 

This  passage  enables  us  to  put  our  finger  on  one 
of  the  most  important  qualities  of  Park  man's  char 
acter  and  work.  Although  by  nature  more  given  to 
strictures  than  laudation,  he  was  most  distinctly  a 
kindly  spirit  in  his  life  and  his  writings.  Despite 
the  absence  of  sentiment  from  his  pages,  which  yet 
deal  so  much  with  experiences  calling  for  pity,  this 
guide  lays  on  the  reader  a  silent  hand  that  is  humane 
and  gentle.  Then  again,  his  humor,  though  critical 
and  incisive,  is  always  kind,  having  generally  a 
moral  aim,  as  against  a  lack  of  manliness,  common- 
sense,  freedom,  or  honesty.  And  in  spite  of  their 
long  lists  of  hardships  and  tortures,  his  books  are  all 
cheerful  in  tone. 

But  to  return  to  his  love  of  truth,  Parkman's 
impartiality  in  historical  work  is  shown  in  two  broad 
topics  that  of  necessity  run  through  many  of  his 
volumes :  Catholicism  and  Feudalism.  Romanism 
in  particular,  taking  it  simply  as  a  system  of  practi 
cal  morality,  roused  his  strongest  antipathy  by  many 


208  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

of  its  fundamental  principles  in  education  and  daily 
conduct;  but  however  little  Parkman  cared  about 
the  religious  life,  he  esteemed  too  highly  deep  feel 
ing  of  some  kind  as  the  motive  force  of  character, 
to  treat  lightly  the  sincere  practice  of  any  religion. 
He  never  failed  to  appreciate  devotion  to  duty,  and 
victories  of  the  conscience.  It  was  a  lofty  view  of 
life  and  character,  quite  as  much  as  the  impartiality 
of  the  historian,  that  led  him  to  set  forth  the  heroic 
labors  and  martyrdoms  of  the  early  Missionaries  of 
Canada.  He  said : 

"But  when  we  see  them,  in  the  gloomy  February  of 
1637,  and  the  gloomier  months  that  followed,  toiling  on 
foot  from  one  infected  town  to  another,  wading  through 
the  sodden  snow,  under  the  bare  and  dripping  forests, 
drenched  with  incessant  rains,  till  they  descried  at  length 
through  the  storm  the  clustered  dwellings  of  some  bar 
barous  hamlet,  —  when  we  see  them  entering,  one  after 
another,  these  wretched  abodes  of  misery  and  darkness, 
and  all  for  one  sole  end,  the  baptism  of  the  sick  and 
dying,  we  may  smile  at  the  futility  of  the  object,  but 
we  must  needs  admire  the  self-sacrificing  zeal  with  which 
it  was  pursued. 

"  Yet  withal  a  fervor  more  intense,  a  self-abnegation 
more  complete,  a  self-devotion  more  constant  and  endur 
ing,  will  scarcely  find  its  record  on  the  page  of  human 
history."  1 

His  work  reflects  his  equipoise  in  another  matter. 
Although  exceedingly  fond  of  New  England,  he 

1  The  Jesuits,  Chapter  VIII. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         209 

did  not  spare  the  lethargy  and  factiousness  of  the 
English  colonists  ;  and  it  is  noticeable  that  he  seldom 
went  a  step  out  of  his  way  to  show  the  redeeming 
virtues  of  his  own  people. 

His  work  is  characteristic  also  by  the  naturalness 
and  simplicity  of  his  conceptions.  His  elemental 
temperament  led  him  to  keep  the  reader  as  much  as 
possible  out-of-doors,  amid  the  space,  air,  and  freedom 
of  primeval  nature.  He  conducted  his  narratives 
with  the  same  quick,  firm  step  he  had  in  walking; 
his  keen  perceptions  and  good  memory  enabled  him 
to  seize  a  multitude  of  details  along  the  way;  but 
he  never  lost  the  trail,  or  failed  to  subordinate 
details  to  the  general  effect.  Such  rapidity  of  move 
ment  is  impossible  to  a  mind  unable  to  see  things  in 
broad  masses. 

The  same  is  true  of  his  treatment  of  character. 
He  cared  little  for  the  underhand  elements  of  his 
tory  —  the  complexities  of  diplomacy,  petty  per 
sonal  matters,  meanness  of  motives  and  conduct 
received  small  development  under  his  hand.  What 
ever  men  and  events  may  have  been  in  their  depths, 
his  conception  and  presentation  of  them  were  frank, 
strong,  and  simple.  Truly  fortunate  was  he  to  find 
in  his  theme  so  much  that  was  simple  and  manly. 
Probably  he  would  not  have  done  so  well  in  writing 
a  history  of  Europe,  entangled  in  a  complex  web  of 
many  lines  of  interest  and  jostled  at  every  turn  by 
crowding  peoples  of  diverse  origins  and  destinies. 
He  needed  just  what  he  had,  —  the  stories  of  a  few 

14 


210  A   LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

single-minded  heroes  leading  small  bodies  of  men 
through  the  wide  spaces  of  the  wilderness,  and  the 
deeper,  though  still  simple  history  of  two  opposing 
systems  of  colonization  and  national  growth. 

As  the  production  of  a  "  passionate  Puritan,"  1  his 
work  bears  in  itself  the  fire  and  the  reserve  of  his 
dual  nature.  He  often  wished  to  get  rid  of  the  re 
pressive  force  that  held  him  down.  In  this  subter 
ranean  warfare  of  his  nature,  Puritanism  was  nearly 
always  the  victor.  While  willing  to  expand  consid 
erably  a  description  of  the  scenic  setting  of  an 
incident,  he  was  entirely  unable  to  express  his  sym- 

1  This  happy  phrase  comes  from  the  following  poem  by  his 
daughter,  Mrs.  J.  T.  Coolidge,  Jr. 

To  F.  P. 

Stoic  and  warrior,  through  the  din  of  strife 
Thy  path  was  hewn  with  strength  of  iron  will. 
No  fear  could  stay  thy  dauntless  course  through  life, 
Nor  destiny's  decrees  thy  purpose  kill. 
Straight  to  the  mark  with  head  erect  and  free, 
Enduring  all,  determined  to  attain, 
Nor  count  the  cost ;  thy  strong  vitality 
Transfigured  pain  to  power,  and  loss  to  gain. 
When  the  long  fight  was  fought,  the  laurel  wreath 
Of  high  success  was  thine,  —  faithful  to  death. 

Passionate  Puritan,  master  of  thy  might, 

The  faint  of  heart  grew  strong  in  seeing  thee  ; 

A  dominant  idea  the  leading  light 

And  talisman  that  gave  thee  victory. 

Deep  in  thyself  was  force  of  hurning  fire 

That  nerve  must  hold  until  the  prize  be  won; 

Fearlessly  guiding  it  to  thy  desire 

Thy  hand  drove  on  the  chariot  of  the  sun 

Until  the  gates  flew  wide,  and  on  thy  vision 

Burst  light  of  conqueror's  calm  in  Fields  Elysian. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS        211 

pathy  for  a  victim  tortured  to  death,  or  to  cast  over 
an  event  the  halo  of  a  poetic  or  moral  sentiment. 
This  reserve  showed  itself  so  strongly  in  "  Pontiac," 
written  in  the  exuberant  and  expansive  period  of 
life,  as  to  call  forth  the  following  letter  from  his 
mentor,  Professor  Sparks.  After  referring  to  the 
atrocious  acts  of  the  Paxton  men  he  says: 

"  Altho  you  relate  events  in  the  true  spirit  of  calm 
ness  and  justice,  yet  I  am  not  sure  but  a  word  or  two  of 
indignation,  now  and  then,  at  such  unnatural  and  inhuman 
developments  of  the  inner  man  would  be  expected  from 
an  historian  who  enters  deeply  into  the  merits  of  his 
subject."  l 

Parkman  was  inevitably  in  his  work  what  he  was 
in  his  temperament,  —  Puritan,  Spartan,  and  Stoic 
all  in  one.  We  are  constantly  impressed  by  his 
Puritan  economy  of  praise.  Few  achievements  or 
characters  call  out  any  expression  of  admiration, 
although  his  pages  glow  with  their  strong  diction 
and  rapid  movement.  Although  as  a  man  he  suf 
fered  under  the  strain  of  these  opposite  qualities,  as  a 
historian  he  found  in  them  a  large  part  of  his  success. 

His  manner  under  criticism  was  naturally  that  of 
a  strong  and  independent  soul  standing  on  solid 
ground,  and  loving  a  fight.  He  wrote :  "  I  believe 
that,  when  I  feel  confident  in  my  position,  I  am  not 
very  sensitive  to  criticism."  2  But  he  had  no  fond- 

1  Letter  written  in  1850. 

2  To  Abbe  Casgrain,  May  23,  1873. 


212  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

ness  for  polemical  and  metaphysical  contentions ; 
he  was  decisive  rather  than  argumentative.  Early 
in  life  he  formed  his  opinions  on  nearly  all  the  topics 
he  afterwards  had  occasion  to  handle,  and  he  held  to 
these  views  with  great  firmness.  His  self-defences 
consisted  chiefly  of  a  presentation  of  facts,  rather 
than  any  consideration  of  principles  and  theories. 
Once  he  had  given  his  opinion  he  was  apt  to  drop 
the  subject,  or  listen  to  his  opponent  in  silence. 
Thanks  to  thoroughness  and  the  need  of  economiz 
ing  his  strength  and  sight,  he  seldom  felt  obliged  to 
take  up  his  pen  in  self-defence ;  but  when  he  did,  he 
left  nothing  to  be  desired  in  the  way  of  firm  thought 
and  incisive  expression.  In  a  few  papers  he  has  given 
us  a  glimpse  or  two  of  this  side  of  his  nature. 

For  what  Parkman  thought  of  other  historians  we 
have  very  little  data.  It  is  said  that  he  admired 
Prescott  when  in  college,  yet  no  record  of  this  influ 
ence  or  of  any  other  is  extant.  Later  his  reading  was 
for  the  most  part  determined  by  the  need  of  relaxation ; 
so  that  he  knew  little  history  outside  his  own  special 
field.  Unfortunately,  but  few  of  his  passing  remarks 
on  historians  have  been  preserved.  We  have  already 
given  his  opinion  of  Garneau,  as  having  the  philo 
sophical  manner  without  the  matter ,  also  his  vigor 
ous  censure  of  Bancroft  for  estimating  too  highly  the 
dignity  of  history,  and  avoiding  the  use  of  homely 
and  trifling  incidents.  He  considered  De  Gaspe"s 
"  Anciens  Canadiens  "  an  "  admirable  picture  of  life 
and  manners,  one  of  the  chief  attractions  of  which  is 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         213 

its  manifest  truth."  1  Occasionally  he  wrote  a  short 
review  of  historical  works  concerning  the  Indians, 
such  as  Stone's  "  Red  Jacket."  Rameau,  however,  in 
presenting  the  Roman  Catholic  view  of  the  old  rd- 
gime  in  Canada,  called  forth  a  review  that  contains 
several  characteristic  passages. 

"He  is  the  bravest  of  generalizers ;  snatches  at  a  de 
tached  fact  and  spreads  it  over  as  much  ground  as  his 
theories  require.  .  .  .  His  book  is  a  curious  example  of  the 
manner  in  which  a  man  of  confused  brain  and  weak  judg 
ment,  eager  to  see  things  in  his  own  way,  will  distort 
some  facts,  overlook  others,  magnify  others  that  are  tri 
fling  into  gigantic  proportion,  and  all  with  110  apparent 
intention  to  deceive  anybody."  2 

But  these  papers  are  a  very  inadequate  gratifica 
tion  of  the  general  desire  to  know  the  opinions  of  an 
expert.  Parkman's  inability  to  read  much  is  perhaps 
to  be  regretted  here  more  than  anywhere  else  ;  since 
his  originality  and  independence  would  have  made 
his  criticism  most  valuable. 

Despite  the  fact  that  a  Puritanic  economy  of  praise 
held  a  mask  before  his  sympathies,  we  may  yet  learn 
something  personal  from  a  view  of  his  gallery  of  his 
torical  portraits.  His  self-revelations,  however,  must 
be  looked  for  more  in  his  style  and  treatment  than  in 
any  evident  signs  of  sympathy.  At  most  we  can  now 
and  then  catch  a  confidential  word  to  some  of  his 
heroes  as  they  march  along. 

1  Letter  to  Abbe  Casgrain,  June  3,  1871. 

2  Review  of  Une  Colonie  Ffodale.  —  The  Nation,  No.  652. 


214  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

The  strong  and  effective,  in  character  as  well  as  in 
nature  and  language,  attracted  him.  He  adhered 
conscientiously  to  facts  in  portraiture,  indulging  in 
no  hazardous  or  imaginative  touches,  however  invit 
ing  they  might  be  for  the  sake  of  artistic  symmetry 
and  completeness.  His  energy  and  imagination,  con 
centrated  on  the  ideal  world  of  his  solitary  study, 
brought  him  to  look  upon  his  characters  as  real 
people;  he  thus  attained  much  of  the  novelist's  or 
dramatist's  vividness  of  conception.  The  range  of 
his  knowledge  of  men  and  life  is  shown  by  the  vari 
ety  of  classes  handled.  He  seized  with  certainty  the 
salient  traits  of  men  and  women,  courtiers  and  sav 
ages,  priests  and  politicians,  seigniors  and  peasants, 
nuns  and  coureurs  de  bois.  Here  by  sympathy,  there 
by  antipathy,  more  often  still  by  simply  a  keen  intel 
lectual  comprehension,  he  reached  in  the  long  years 
of  slow  work  and  solitary  meditation  very  close  rela 
tions  with  his  characters.  The  chief  wonder  is  that 
in  this  prolonged  intimacy  he  should  have  given  so 
little  of  himself. 

Parkman's  methods  in  portraiture  were  happily 
varied  according  to  his  materials  and  in  view  of  the 
literary  contrasts  and  effects  he  wished  to  produce. 
Now  the  chief  traits  of  a  man  would  be  given  in  a 
a  few  lines ;  then  built  up  by  successive  touches 
brought  in  as  the  course  of  events  required;  or 
again  the  antecedents  and  education  of  a  person 
would  be  set  forth  in  a  more  or  less  biographical 
sketch.  Or  perhaps  a  man's  own  contemporaries 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS        215 

were  allowed  to  testify  on  all  sides  as  to  his  char 
acter  and  conduct,  thus  reassuring  the  reader  by  the 
most  unquestionable  impartiality.  Parkman's  love 
of  unity  and  effectiveness  received  the  highest  grati 
fication  whenever  he  found  a  figure  that  could  be 
justly  used  as  the  centre  of  interest  for  grouping  the 
men  and  events  of  an  epoch.  La  Salle  and  Fronte- 
nac  were  thus  favorite  subjects  with  him,  while  "  A 
Half  Century"  repelled  him  by  its  lack  of  a  hero 
and  a  controlling  purpose.  His  love  of  action  made 
him  fond  of  the  dramatic  in  history :  he  liked  a  char 
acter  to  portray  himself  by  his  acts.  This  method,  I 
think,  was  his  first  choice  whenever  proportion  and 
material  allowed  of  its  employment. 

Parkman's  portraits  are  further  interesting  as  a 
record  of  his  growth.  In  the  earlier  works  their 
firmness  of  treatment  is  not  free  from  a  certain 
hardness.  Though  living  and  effective,  these  por 
traits  generally  give  only  the  external  forces  that  are 
made  manifest  in  a  public  career:  they  show  keen 
ness  of  perception  more  than  sympathy.  But  suffer 
ing,  friendships,  years  of  hard  work,  and  success  at 
last,  could  not  fail  to  mellow  a  nature  so  capable  of 
culture.  In  his  later  volumes  Parkman  shows  more 
interest  in  the  emotional  and  spiritual  forces  of 
character  —  as  may  be  seen  in  his  describing  the 
meanness  of  Braddock  towards  women,  Montcalm's 
affectionate  and  domestic  qualities,  and  the  filial  and 
poetic  sentiment  that  graced  the  pathetic  figure  of 
Wolfe. 


216  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

If  I  were  restricted  to  one  word  that  should  de 
scribe  both  the  life  and  the  character  of  Parkman, 
that  word  would  be  heroic.  In  following  out  the 
harmony  of  his  character  with  his  theme,  and  seeking 
for  reflections  of  that  character  in  his  works,  I  was 
therefore  delighted  to  meet  with  the  following  pas 
sage  in  Professor  Fiske's  "  Introductory  Essay " 
(p.  xxxv): 

"  In  all  the  history  of  the  American  continent,  no 
names  stand  higher  than  some  of  the  French  names. 
For  courage,  for  fortitude  and  high  resolve,  for  sagacious 
leadership,  statesmanlike  wisdom,  unswerving  integrity, 
devoted  loyalt}",  for  all  the  qualities  which  make  life 
heroic,  we  may  learn  lessons  innumerable  from  the  noble 
Frenchmen  who  throng  in  Mr.  Parkman's  pages. " 

If  ever  an  artist  was  blessed  with  a  congenial  sub 
ject,  it  was  Parkman.  And  this  harmony  was  espe 
cially  close  in  the  most  central  and  important  element 
—  the  humanity,  the  life  and  character  connected 
with  his  theme.  He  was  continually  meeting  some 
trait  or  experience  of  his  own  in  following  his  peo 
ple;  and  in  one  or  two  cases  he  stood  singularly 
close  to  his  heroes. 

Parkman's  imaginative  sympathy,  the  very  heart  of 
the  artist,  deserves  a  word  for  its  relations  to  his  por 
traits.  Inevitably  allied  to  the  human  sympathy 
from  which  it  springs,  it  followed  the  same  growth, 
from  its  externality  in  youth  and  middle  life  to  a 
deeper  insight  in  his  maturity.  True,  frank,  and  per 
sistent  though  he  was  in  friendship,  his  faculties  and 


PARKMAN   AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS        217 

sympathies  were  unable  to  reach  the  spiritual  elements 
of  life  and  character.  In  his  humanities  as  in  his  rela 
tions  with  nature,  he  was  true  to  himself,  —  never 
affecting  sentiments  not  clearly  felt  by  him.  In  his 
diaries,  for  example,  he  seems  to  have  viewed  life  as 
a  pageant,  men  and  women  not  within  the  circle  of 
his  friendship  being  mere  persons  in  a  procession.  In 
training  himself  for  observation  and  description,  he 
was  satisfied  with  noting  only  the  external,  material 
facts  of  the  show,  not  even  attempting  to  read  the 
story  of  intimate  experience  in  any  person,  class,  or 
nation,  nor  to  penetrate  into  the  recesses  of  character. 
But  those  things  that  his  organization  enabled  him  to 
perceive  he  saw  very  clearly,  and  devoted  his  atten 
tion  to  them  with  his  usual  concentration  and  energy. 
We  shall  see  other  effects  of  his  specialized  sympathy 
in  his  miscellaneous  papers  on  public  questions. 

His  treatment  of  the  Indian  is  another  illustration 
of  this  point.  It  is  so  exceedingly  graphic  and  impres 
sive  as  to  carry  the  general  reader  along  in  complete 
absorption.  Yet  it  has  found  critics  among  philan 
thropic  students  of  to-day  who  have  the  advantages 
of  more  recent  discoveries  and  methods.  They  say 
that  his  treatment  lacks  sympathy,  as  well  as  a 
knowledge  of  the  deeper  interests  connected  with  that 
peculiar  race  of  men.  While  they  admire  his  work 
for  its  thoroughness  and  for  its  remarkable  charm  of 
picturesqueness,  they  are  inclined  to  treat  lightly 
opinions  formed  from  the  superficial  works  of  the 
Jesuits  and  other  early  writers,  or  on  the  traditions 


218  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

of  New  England  derived  from  the  political  economy 
of  Miles  Standish,  and  on  the  experience  of  border 
settlers  who  had  suffered  from  Indian  cruelty  and  re 
venge.  These  critics  say  that  when  Parkman  went 
west  to  see  for  himself,  he  confirmed  these  opinions 
by  a  sojourn  of  only  a  few  months  with  a  band  of 
Sioux,  during  which  time  suspicion  rather  than  sym 
pathy  ruled  the  intercourse,  rendering  it  impossible 
for  him  to  penetrate  beneath  the  surface ;  and  that  as 
his  infirmities  prevented  him  from  closely  following 
subsequent  studies,  his  work  must  be  regarded  as 
the  most  accurate  and  graphic  picture  of  the  pag 
eantry  alone,  the  bare  external  life  and  character  of 
men  in  the  stone  age.  On  the  other  hand,  many 
people,  especially  frontiersmen,  who  consider  modern 
philosophic  lines  of  appreciation  as  visionary,  hold 
to  the  simpler  conceptions  of  Parkman  as  the  true, 
practical,  and  sufficient  portrayal  of  the  Indian. 

The  only  point  that  concerns  us  here  is  the  sig 
nificance  of  his  study  as  a  revelation  of  his  own 
personality.  At  the  time  of  his  investigations  the 
science  of  ethnology  had  not  yet  been  even  named ; 
much  less  had  the  doctrine  of  evolution  been  applied 
to  the  study  of  it.  No  one  then  dreamed  of  studying 
the  tribal  life  of  Indians  as  a  connecting  link  between 
the  prehistoric  epoch  and  the  earliest  recorded  period 
of  civilization.  But  even  had  these  ideas  been  in 
force,  it  seems  doubtful  that  Parkman  would  have 
followed  them,  having  no  taste  for  such  philosophical 
studies,  or  for  psychological  phenomena  in  traditions, 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS        219 

,•* 

ceremonies,  and  language.  He  described  just  what 
lie  most  liked  to  observe  —  the  pageantry  of  wild  life 
and  the  manifest,  effective  traits  of  Indian  character. 
He  could  not  decorate  his  accurate  work  with  vision 
ary  savages;  he  could  use  neither  the  romance  of 
Cooper  nor  the  abstractions  of  ethnological  specula 
tion.  He  followed  his  own  bent  for  realism. 

In  his  solitary  study  Parkman  dwelt  with  a  com 
pany  very  real  to  his  imagination.  Some  of  them  he 
obviously  hated ;  he  treated  others  in  his  reserved  way 
as  friends ;  and  one  he  seems  to  have  regarded  almost 
as  a  brother.  In  looking  at  his  gallery  of  portraits,  it 
would  seem  as  if  fate  had  selected  the  leaders  of  New 
France  with  special  reference  to  her  future  historian. 
Except  a  few  men  and  women  of  the  soft  and  saintly 
type,  the  persons  in  that  history  were  generally  of 
heroic  temper;  and  even  the  exceptions  often  came 
within  the  range  of  his  feeling  by  their  heroic  labors 
and  hardships.  The  men  who  left  luxurious  France 
to  face  the  savagery  of  early  America,  had  to  have  a 
certain  measure  of  manliness.  But  Parkman  presents 
his  heroes  as  he  spoke  of  his  friends  in  real  life  — 
without  praise  in  even  the  soberest  terms.  A  sense 
of  sympathy  and  comprehension  are  conveyed  by  the 
simple  noting  of  facts ;  or  some  close,  forcible  phrase, 
giving  the  motive  or  quality  of  character  or  conduct, 
serves  for  explicit  appreciation.  Thus  when  Daulac 
took  Parkman  with  him  on  his  heroic  expedition  to 
the  Long  Sault,  the  latter  opened  his  own  heart  in 
saying  :  "  The  enthusiasm  of  honor,  the  enthusiasm 


220  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

•„• 

of  adventure,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  faith  were  its 
motive  forces."1 

I  do  not  ignore  the  slightness  of  the  evidence  con 
tained  in  such  historical  facts  and  obvious  appreci 
ations  taken  as  autobiographic  confessions,  and  I  am 
aware  that  to  those  who  have  never  known  Parkman 
personally,  this  evidence  will  have  little  value.  But 
to  those  who  knew  the  man,  these  slight  signs  may 
be  not  unwelcome  additions  to  the  interest  felt  in  his 
works.  The  chivalrous  Champlain,  the  brave  and 
loyal  Tonty,  the  lion-hearted  Bre'boeuf,  and  many 
others,  appealed  to  his  own  natural  parts  ;  and  he 
unconsciously  responded  in  his  treatment.  His  an 
tipathies  were  equally  stimulated  by  Menendez, 
Marie  de  Me*dicis,  and  Pompadour.  Nothing  struck 
fire  from  his  steel  more  quickly  than  the  assumptions 
of  the  church  in  temporal  affairs.  His  animation 
of  feeling  on  this  point  is  frequently  met  in  Fron- 
tenac's  contests  with  the  Jesuits  and  with  Bishops 
Laval  and  Saint  Valier.  Dearly  did  he  love  a  fight, 
and  a  good  fighter;  witness  his  lengthy  account  of 
Frederick  the  Great's  single-handed  struggle  with  all 
Europe,  —  a  struggle  not  closely  related  to  the  war  in 
America.  As  a  minor  figure  that  appealed  to  the  same 
martial  taste,  take  Rogers  the  Ranger,  who  captured 
Parkman's  youthful  enthusiasm  and  led  him  to  follow 
the  Ranger's  trails  about  Lake  George  and  Lake  Cham- 
plain,  and  to  write  the  only  poem  he  ever  published.2 

His  detestation  of   duplicity  may  be   seen  in   his 

1  Old  Regime,  p.  123.  2  See  Appendix. 


PARKMAN   AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         221 

treatment  of  Laloutre  and  other  Indian-agent  mis 
sionaries,  as  well  as  of  many  ecclesiastical  poli 
ticians.  Another  example  is  his  presentation  of  that 
curious  compound  of  feminine  wiles  and  Roman 
Catholic  morality,  Madame  de  la  Peltrie.1  On  the 
other  hand,  he  gave  himself  out  with  equal  distinct 
ness  in  dealing  with  the  admirable  personalities  of 
his  group.  The  portrait  of  that  strong  woman,  Marie 
de  I'lncarnation,  shows  his  ready  appreciation  of 
power  and  native  nobility.  Perhaps  his  nearest  ap 
proach  to  sentiment  and  pathos  is  the  account  of 
Jogues  mourning  for  his  murdered  companion  Gar- 
nier;  yet  this  impression  is  conveyed  only  by  the 
facts  of  the  incident.  An  exceptional  estimation 
of  poetic  beauty  in  character  is  shown  in  the  por 
trait  of  Marquette : 2 

"He  was  a  devout  votary  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  who, 
imaged  to  his  mind  in  shapes  of  the  most  transcendent 
loveliness  with  which  the  pencil  of  human  genius  has  ever 
informed  the  canvas,  was  to  him  the  object  of  an  adoration 
not  unmingled  with  a  sentiment  of  chivalrous  devotion. 
The  longings  of  a  sensitive  heart,  divorced  from  earth, 
sought  solace  in  the  skies.  A  subtile  element  of  romance 
was  blended  with  the  fervor  of  his  worship,  and  hung  like 
an  illumined  cloud  over  the  harsh  and  hard  realities  of  his 
daily  lot.  Kindled  by  the  smile  of  his  celestial  mistress, 
his  gentle  and  noble  nature  knew  no  fear.  For  her  he 
burned  to  dare  and  to  suffer,  discover  new  lands,  and  con 
quer  new  realms  to  her  sway." 

\V 

1  P.  316.  2  La  Salle,  p.  50. 


222  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

But  within  the  wide  circle  of  these  friends  of 
second  degree,  there  was  a  small  group  of  men  who 
drew  him  into  still  closer  sympathy.  Lord  Howe, 
the  cultured  gentleman  and  "complete  model  of 
military  virtue,"  was  a  figure  that  Parkman  took  by 
the  hand.  Under  similar  circumstances  he  himself 
would  have  shown  the  same  earnestness  and  practical 
wisdom  that  Howe  displayed  in  serving  under  Rogers 
to  study  the  needs  of  men  fighting  in  the  wilderness, 
and  in  reorganizing  the  service  to  suit  these  condi 
tions.  Pitt,  in  spite  of  certain  weaknesses,  also  drew 
forth  some  sympathetic  words ;  Parkman  could  not 
stand  aloof  from  the  gifted,  ambitious,  incorruptible 
patriot,  the  commanding  and  inspiring  statesman  who 
was  leading  England  to  success  in  all  quarters  of  the 
globe. 

Wolfe  was  another  of  his  affinities.  Wolfe's  por 
trait  contains  many  touches  that  are  surprisingly  true 
of  Parkman  in  his  early  manhood  ;  and  these  resem 
blances  would  have  been  still  more  striking  had  the 
historian's  martial  instincts  been  brought  to  light  by 
a  military  career.  For  example  : l 

"  Wolfe  was  a  delicate  and  sensitive  child,  but  an  im 
petuous  and  somewhat  headstrong  youth  who  from  child 
hood  had  dreamed  of  the  army  and  the  wars,  and  who  had 
showed  along  with  a  painstaking  assiduity  a  precocious 
faculty  for  commanding  men.  .  .  .  Always  ardent,  al 
ways  diligent,  and  constant  in  military  duty.  He  made 
friends  readily  and  kept  them,  a$d  was  usually  a  pleasant 

1  Montcalm  and  Wolfe,  vol.  ii.  p.  184. 


PARKMAN   AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS        223 

companion,  though  subject  to  sallies  of  imperious  irrita 
bility,  which  occasionally  broke  through  his  strong  sense  of 
good  breeding.  For  this  his  susceptible  constitution  was 
largely  answerable.  ...  In  spite  of  his  impatient  out 
bursts,  the  officers  whom  he  had  commanded  remained 
attached  to  him  for  life,  and  in  spite  of  his  rigorous 
discipline,  he  was  beloved  by  his  soldiers.  Frankness, 
directness,  essential  good  feeling,  and  a  high  integrity 
atoned  for  all  his  faults.  In  his  own  view,  as  expressed 
to  his  mother,  he  was  a  person  of  very  moderate  abilities, 
aided  by  more  than  usual  diligence  ;  but  this  modest 
judgment  of  himself  by  no  means  deprived  him  of  self- 
confidence,  nor,  in  time  of  need,  of  self-assertion.  He 
delighted  in  every  kind  of  hardihood  :  and  in  his  con 
tempt  for  effeminacy,  once  said  to  his  mother  :  'Better 
be  a  savage  of  some  use  than  a  gentle,  amorous  puppy, 
obnoxious  to  all  the  world.'  He  was  far  from  despising 
fame,  but  the  controlling  principles  of  his  life  were  duty 
to  his  country  and  his  profession,  loyalty  to  the  King, 
and  fidelity  to  his  own  ideal  of  the  perfect  soldier.  To 
the  parent  who  was  the  confidant  of  his  most  intimate 
thoughts,  he  said  :  '  All  that  I  wish  for  myself  is  that  I 
may  at  all  times  be  ready  and  firm  to  meet  that  fate  we 
cannot  shun,  and  to  die  gracefully  and  properly  when  the 
hour  comes.'  Never  was  wish  more  signally  fulfilled. 
And  again  he  tells  her  :  i  My  utmost  desire  and  ambition 
is  to  look  steadily  upon  danger.'  And  his  desire  was 
accomplished.  His  intrepidity  was  complete.  No  form 
of  death  had  power  to  daunt  him.  Once  and  again  when 
bound  on  some  deadly  enterprise  of  war,  he  calmly  counts 
the  chances  whether  or  not  he  can  compel  his  feeble  body 
to  bear  him  on  till  the  work  is  done.  A  frame  so  deli- 


224  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

cately  strung  could  not  have  been  insensible  to  danger  ; 
but  forgetfulness  of  self,  and  the  absorption  of  every 
faculty  in  the  object  before  him,  shut  out  the  sense  of 
fear.  He  seems  always  to  have  been  at  his  best  in  the 
thick  of  battle  ;  most  complete  in  his  mastery  over  him 
self  and  over  others." 

Parkman  in  his  darkened  study,  combating  his 
infirmities  and  difficulties,  bore  himself  as  Wolfe  did 
in  sailing  for  Quebec : 

"  In  a  few  hours  the  whole  squadron  was  at  sea,  the 
transports,  the  frigates,  and  the  great  line  of  battleships 
with  their  ponderous  armament  and  their  freight  of  rude 
humanity,  armed  and  trained  for  destruction  ;  while  on 
the  heaving  deck  of  the  'Neptune,'  wretched  with  seasick 
ness  and  racked  with  pain,  stood  the  gallant  invalid  who 
was  master  of  it  all." 

Frontenac  is  another  member  of  his  inner  circle  of 
friends,  but  one  whose  closeness  did  not  depend 
chiefly  on  resemblances  to  Parkman.  While  some  of 
their  most  fundamental  traits  were  found  in  both, 
many  of  the  Frenchman's  peculiarities  were  quite 
foreign  to  the  self-restrained  Puritan.  Frontenac 
held  his  place  by  a  variety  of  circumstances.  Parkman 
said : l  "  The  history  of  New  France  is  a  great  and 
significant  drama,  enacted  among  untamed  forests, 
with  a  distant  gleam  of  courtly  splendors  and  the 
regal  pomp  of  Versailles."  The  volume  "  Frontenac 
and  New  France  under  Louis  XIV."  is  the  climax 
of  this  drama,  and  its  denouement  is  "  Montcalm  and 

1  Preface  to  Frontenac. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS        225 

Wolfe."  Count  Frontenac  was  thus  a  most  fortu 
nate  find  for  the  historian,  being  in  true  perspective 
the  central  figure  of  the  whole  work.  They  were 
closely  related  by  several  personal  traits,  —  a  frank 
manner,  clear  and  decisive  speech,  martial  tastes,  in 
dependence,  keenness  and  fire,  love  of  action,  master 
ful  energy,  and  strength  of  will.  Even  Frontenac's 
violent  outbursts  in  connection  with  the  Jesuits  were 
in  accord  with  Parkman's  controlled  impetuosity. 
The  historian  could  not  but  enjoy  such  a  man  in 
such  surroundings,  a  man  of  whom  he  said:  "A 
more  remarkable  figure  in  its  bold  and  salient  indi 
viduality  and  sharply  marked  light  and  shade  is  no 
where  seen  in  American  history." 1  Then  again 
Frontenac  gathered  about  him  topics  that  enlisted 
his  liveliest  interest,  —  such  as  the  conflicts  of  church 
and  state,  and  the  vast  plans  that  Frontenac  imposed 
as  the  future  policy  of  France  in  America.  Frontenac 
may  be  regarded  as  Parkman's  masterpiece  in  por 
traiture. 

But  he  had  a  still  more  intimate  friend.  La  Salle, 
whose  character  and  labors  appealed  with  exceptional 
force  to  his  sympathies,  and  drew  out  of  him  auto 
biographic  touches  of  the  most  intimate  kind,  was 
almost  a  brother.  In  La  Salle  he  found  his  own  manly 
character  matched,  and  inevitably  warmed  to  the  man 
who  had  shown  such  courage,  hardihood,  and  strength 
in  the  wilderness,  who  pursued  with  so  much  deter 
mination  and  energy  plans  of  the  greatest  importance. 

1  Frontenac,?.  436. 
15 


226  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Through  the  sympathy  born  of  these  and  other  essen 
tial  similarities,  Parkman  seems  often  to  have  spoken 
of  himself  in  describing  La  Salle;  and  this  opinion 
is  further  sustained  both  by  our  knowledge  of  the 
former's  traits  and  by  the  fervor,  insight,  and  sure- 
ness  of  touch  shown  in  his  chapter  on  the  explorer's 
character.  Take,  for  example,  these  temperamental 
traits  of  the  young  La  Salle : 

"The  cravings  of  a  deep  ambition,  the  hunger  of  an 
insatiable  intellect,  the  intense  longing  for  action  and 
achievement,  subdued  in  him  all  other  passions.  ...  A 
youth  whose  calm  exterior  hid  an  inexhaustible  fund  of 
pride,  whose  inflexible  purposes,  nursed  in  secret,  the 
confessional  and  the  '  manifestations  of  conscience '  could 
hardly  drag  to  light;  whose  strong  personality  would  not 
yield  to  the  shaping  hand,  and  who  by  a  necessity  of  his 
nature,  could  obey  no  initiative  but  his  own,  was  not  after 
the  model  that  Loyola  had  commended  to  his  followers.  A 
young  man  in  whom  the  fire  of  youth  glowed  not  the  less 
ardently  for  the  veil  of  reserve  that  covered  it ;  who  would 
shrink  from  no  danger,  but  would  not  court  it  in  bravado ; 
and  who  would  cling  with  an  invincible  tenacity  of  grip 
to  any  purpose  which  he  might  espouse."1 

Nor  could  Parkman  be  more  autobiographic  than  in 
saying : 

"The  staple  of  La  Salle's  character,  as  his  life  will 
attest,  was  an  invincible  determination  of  purpose,  which 
set  at  naught  all  risks  and  all  sufferings."  2 

Aside  from  the  difference  of  Parkman's  ultimate  suc 
cess  and  La  Salle's  failure,  the  following  passage 

i  La  Salle,  p.  3.  2  Ibid.,  p.  17. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         227 

again  is  true  of  Parkman,  not  only  as  to  his  personal 
history  in  regard  to  labor,  risk,  and  fortitude,  but  also 
as  regards  his  spirit,  at  least  in  the  early  and  middle 
epochs  of  his  career: 

"  He  had  staked  all,  and  all  had  seemingly  been  lost. 
In  stern  and  relentless  effort,  he  had  touched  the  limits  of 
human  endurance,  and  the  harvest  of  his  toil  was  disap 
pointment,  disaster,  impending  ruin.  The  shattered  fabric 
of  his  enterprise  was  prostrate  in  the  dust.  His  friends 
desponded;  his  foes  were  blatant  and  exultant.  Did  he 
bend  before  the  storm?  No  human  eye  could  pierce  the 
depths  of  his  reserved  and  haughty  nature ;  but  the  sur 
face  was  calm,  and  no  sign  betrayed  a  shaken  resolve  or 
an  altered  purpose.  Where  weaker  men  would  have 
abandoned  all  in  despairing  apathy,  he  turned  anew  to  his 
work  with  the  same  vigor  and  the  same  apparent  confi 
dence  as  if  borne  on  the  full  tide  of  success. " 

And  later: 

"He  had  no  thought  but  to  grapple  with  adversity,  and 
out  of  the  fragments  of  his  ruin  to  build  up  the  fabric  of 

success.'7 

Even  La  Salle's  reserve  and  pride,  marred  by  cold 
ness  and  irritating  hauteur,  were  well  within  Park- 
man's  comprehension;  for,  possessing  the  former 
traits,  he  escaped  the  latter  only  through  the  oppos 
ing  force  of  frankness  and  geniality.  He  felt  keenly 
for  La  Salle  in  the  isolation  that  must  always  result 
from  such  a  temperament: 

1  La  Salle,  p.  188. 


228  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

"We  have  seen  La  Salle  in  his  acts.  Few  men  knew 
him,  even  of  those  who  saw  him  most.  Reserved  and 
self-contained  ...  he  was  a  sealed  book  to  those  about 
him.  His  daring  energy  and  endurance  were  patent  to 
all;  but  the  motive  forces  that  urged  him,  and  the  influ 
ences  that  wrought  beneath  the  surface  of  his  character, 
were  hidden  where  few  eyes  could  pierce."  l 

Parkman  also  appears  to  say  a  word  in  his  own  defence 
when  recognizing  in  La  Salle  "  an  incapacity  to  ex 
press,  and  much  more  to  simulate  feeling,  —  a  trait 
sometimes  seen  in  those  with  whom  feeling  is  most 
deep."2  Still  other  passages  are  both  biographic 
and  autobiographic: 

"  He  was  the  hero,  not  of  a  principle  nor  of  a  faith,  but 
simply  of  a  fixed  idea  and  a  determined  purpose.  As 
often  happens  with  concentrated  and  energetic  natures,  his 
purpose  was  to  him  a  passion  and  an  inspiration;  and  he 
clung  to  it  with  a  certain  fanaticism  of  devotion."  8 

Again : 

"  Such  was  the  indomitable  nature  of  this  man,  whom 
no  peril  could  deter,  and  no  failure  discourage.  So  he 
remained  to  the  end,  battling  against  destiny  with  the 
same  unflinching  mettle.  Fate  hounded  him  to  death, 
but  could  not  shake  his  courage  ...  La  Salle  was  a 
grand  type  of  incarnate  energy  and  will.7'' 

These  words  also  would  seem  to  spring  from  Park- 
man's  own  experience : 

i  La  Salle,  p.  307.  2  Ibid.,  p.  319. 

»  Ibid.,  p.  406.  *  Ibid.,  p.  446. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         229 

"All  that  appears  to  the  eye  is  his  intrepid  conflict 
with  obstacles  without,  but  this,  perhaps,  was  no  more 
arduous  than  the  invisible  and  silent  strife  of  a  nature  at 
war  with  itself;  the  pride,  aspiration  and  bold  energy 
that  lay  at  the  base  of  his  character  battling  against  the 
superficial  weakness  that  mortified  and  angered  him.  In 
such  a  man,  the  effect  of  such  an  infirmity  is  to  concen 
trate  and  intensify  the  force  within."  1 

He  recognized  in  La  Salle  his  own  central  fire,  —  a 
"  deep  enthusiasm  of  character  which  may  be  read  in 
his  life,  but  to  which  he  rarely  allowed  the  faintest 
expression."  2  And  finally,  he  could  not  have  painted 
himself  with  more  striking  veracity,  in  at  least  the 
harder  periods  of  his  life,  than  in  this  summary  : 

"  Cavalier  de  la  Salle  stands  in  history  like  a  statue 
cast  in  iron  ;  but  his  own  unwilling  pen  betrays  the  man 
and  reveals  in  the  stern,  sad  figure  an  object  of  human 
interest  and  pity."  3 

Parkman's  success  in  dealing  with  many  of  his 
personages  thus  sprang  from  intimate  personal  sym 
pathy  with  them  and  a  knowledge  of  himself.  It  is 
very  doubtful  that  any  other  historical  writings  pre 
sent  such  versatility  of  acute  interest  and  clear 
comprehension  of  character. 

3.  The  sources  of  Parkman's  power  are  deeply 
interesting  to  the  student  of  literature  and  history. 
First  of  all,  there  is  the  richness  of  the  theme  itself, 


1  La  Salle,  p.  320. 
8  Ibid.,  p.  320. 


230  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

freely  offering  vivid  pictures,  dramatic  events,  and 
striking  characters.  Also  it  has  the  freshness  of 
originality,  in  the  strictest  sense:  no  other  epoch  of 
history  takes  us  so  far  back  towards  our  origin,  by 
furnishing  such  graphic  accounts  of  the  life  and 
character  of  man  in  the  stone  age,  or  by  the  experi 
ences  of  civilized  men  in  the  wilderness.  But  the 
broadest  material  distinction  that  marks  his  work  is 
its  realism.  Both  the  man  and  his  books  are  felt  to 
be  solid.  His  work  is  built  of  facts  as  a  palace  of 
dressed  stones,  which,  without  mortar,  hold  them 
selves  together  and  form  a  fair  edifice.  In  por 
traiture  his  sincerity  forbade  him  to  pass  beyond 
appreciations  that  were  natural  to  his  organization,  or 
to  put  in  any  touches  not  justified  by  good  evidence. 
Keeping  his  eye  on  the  actual,  and  on  broad,  posi 
tive,  effective  traits  and  motives,  he  avoided  the 
weakness  of  possible  contradictions  in  details,  and 
made  his  men  and  women  consistent,  vital,  and  full 
of  action.  But  in  this  exceptional  devotion  to  the 
matter,  he  never  lost  sight  of  the  spirit  and  general 
effect.  A  fact  was  simply  a  stone  in  his  edifice,  and 
as  such,  kept  subordinate  to  the  general  plan.  The 
singular  combination  of  an  eye  for  the  picturesque 
with  a  practical,  matter-of-fact  mind  enabled  him  to 
appreciate  both  detail  and  mass.  Thus  he  enjoyed  an 
advantage  that  subsequent  historians  can  hardly  hope 
to  have,  —  even  when  the  sciences  of  ethnology  and 
psychology  shall  have  made  clearer  the  permanent 
and  the  transient  in  history,  and  connected  more 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN   HIS  WORKS         231 

closely  the  present  with  the  past.  Professor  Fiske 
in  his  "Introductory  Essay"  (p.  xxiii)  presents  this 
excellent  summary  of  the  effectiveness  of  Mr.  Park- 
man's  realism: 

"This  elaborateness  of  preparation  had  its  share  in  pro 
ducing  the  intense  vividness  of  Mr.  Parkman's  descrip 
tions.  Profusion  of  detail  makes  them  seem  like  the 
accounts  of  an  eye-witness.  The  realism  is  so  strong  that 
the  author  seems  to  have  come  in  person  fresh  from  the 
scenes  he  described,  with  the  smoke  of  the  battle  hovering 
about  him,  and  its  fierce  light  glowing  in  his  eyes. 
Such  realism  is  usually  the  prerogative  of  the  novelist 
rather  than  of  the  historian." 

But  all  these  basic  realistic  elements  were  merely 
the  body  that  needed  the  breath  of  life ;  we  must  pen 
etrate  to  the  more  intimate  elements  of  personality  if 
we  would  understand  the  sources  of  his  power.  We 
meet  at  once  his  ardent  nature  and  the  supernormal 
energy  by  which  his  work  profited  and  his  body 
suffered.  He  ran  his  race  on  a  fiery  steed,  revelling 
in  the  freedom  and  swiftness  of  motion  over  solid 
ground.  This  energy,  felt  everywhere  in  his  work, 
despite  the  moderation  and  dignity  necessary  to  his 
torical  writing,  animates  the  reader  much  as  music 
does,  independently  of  specific  aims;  being  keenly 
alive,  the  bare  facts  give  him  vivid  impressions, 
which  may  be  largely  determined  by  his  own  know 
ledge  and  powers  of  sympathy. 

Another  central  and  permeating  force,  perhaps  the 


232  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

very  soul  of  all  this  body  of  facts  and  fire,  was  his 
chivalrous  spirit.  What  we  might  call  a  matter- 
of-fact  imagination  was  exalted  by  intense  love  of 
romance.  In  possessing  these  traits,  each  in  a  high 
degree,  he  was  blessed  with  two  of  the  most  effective 
forces  of  the  historian.  Although  his  histories  are 
peculiarly  American,  largely  scientific  in  method,  and 
modern  in  interests,  their  power  over  the  reader 
depends  very  much  on  the  mediaeval  spirit  of  the 
theme  and  of  the  writer.  Parkman's  romantic  turn 
was  not  towards  the  mystical  and  ideal,  but  towards 
the  adventurous,  the  courageous,  the  picturesque. 
Take  for  example  his  description  of  the  founding  of 
Montreal : l 

"  Maisonneuve  sprang  ashore,  and  fell  on  his  knees. 
His  followers  imitated  his  example  ;  and  all  joined  their 
voices  in  enthusiastic  songs  of  thanksgiving.  Tents,  bag 
gage,  arms,  and  stores  were  landed.  An  altar  was  raised 
on  a  pleasant  spot  near  at  hand  ;  and  Mademoiselle 
Mance,  with  Madame  de  la  Peltrie,  aided  by  her  servant, 
Charlotte  Barre,  decorated  it  with  a  taste  which  was  the 
admiration  of  the  beholders.  Now  all  the  company 
gathered  before  the  shrine.  Here  stood  Vimont,  in  the 
rich  vestments  of  his  office.  Here  were  the  two  ladies 
with  tbeir  servant  Montmagny,  no  very  willing  spectator; 
and  Maisonneuve,  a  warlike  figure,  erect  and  tall,  his  men 
clustering  around  him,  —  soldiers,  sailors,  artisans,  and 
laborers,  —  all  alike  soldiers  at  need.  They  kneeled  in 
reverent  silence  as  the  Host  was  raised  aloft  ;  and  when 
the  rite  was  over,  the  priest  turned  and  addressed  them  : 
1  The  Jesuits,  p.  208. 


PAKKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         233 

"  l  You  are  a  grain  of  mustard  seed  that  shall  rise  arid 
grow  till  its  branches  overshadow  the  earth.  You  are  few, 
but  your  work  is  the  work  of  God.  His  smile  is  on  you, 
and  your  children  shall  fill  the  land. ' 

"  The  afternoon  waned  ;  the  sun  sank  behind  the  west 
ern  forest,  and  twilight  came  on.  Fireflies  were  twinkling 
over  the  darkened  meadow.  They  caught  them,  tied  them 
with  thread  into  shining  festoons,  and  hung  them  before 
the  altar  where  the  Host  remained  exposed.  Then  they 
pitched  their  tents,  lighted  their  bivouac  fires,  stationed 
their  guards,  and  lay  down  to  rest.  Such  was  the  birth- 
night  of  Montreal/' 

This  passage  closes  with  the  question:  "Is  this 
true  history,  or  a  romance  of  Christian  chivalry? 
It  is  both." 

As  a  summary  of  his  entire  work  and  its  intimate 
relation  to  himself,  this  remarkable  picture  may  stand 
alone : 

"  The  French  Dominion  is  a  memory  of  the  past  ;  and 
when  we  evoke  its  departed  shades,  they  rise  upon  us 
from  their  graves  in  strange  romantic  guise.  Again  their 
ghostly  campfires  seem  to  burn,  and  the  fitful  light  is  cast 
around  on  lord  and  vassal,  and  black-robed  priest,  min 
gled  with  wild  forms  of  savage  warriors,  knit  in  close 
fellowship  on  the  same  stern  errand.  A  boundless  vision 
grows  upon  us ;  an  untamed  continent  ;  vast  wastes  of 
forest  verdure ;  mountains  silent  in  primeval  sleep ;  river, 
lake,  and  glimmering  pool ;  wilderness  oceans  mingling 
with  the  sky.  Such  was  the  domain  which  France  con 
quered  for  civilization.  Plumed  helmets  gleamed  in  the 


234  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN" 

shade  of  its  forests,  priestly  vestments  in  its  dens  and 
fastnesses  of  ancient  barbarism.  Men  steeped  in  antique 
learning,  pale  with  the  close  breath  of  the  cloister,  here 
spent  the  noon  and  evening  of  their  lives,  ruled  savage 
hordes  with  a  mild,  parental  sway,  and  stood  serene  before 
the  direst  shapes  of  death.  Men  of  courtly  nurture,  heirs 
to  the  polish  of  a  far-reaching  ancestry,  here,  with  their 
dauntless  hardihood,  put  to  shame  the  boldest  sons  of 
toil."  l 

We  have  been  looking  into  Parkman's  books  not 
so  much  with  the  purpose  of  discussing  them  as  lit 
erature  or  history,  as  aiming  to  find  in  his  pages 
reflections  of  his  nature.  As  the  exactness  of  these 
reflections  depends  on  the  accordance  of  the  artist's 
inmost  being  with  his  subject,  training,  and  experi 
ence,  we  have  incidentally  searched  for  these  har 
monies.  But  this  study,  of  fundamental  importance  in 
the  biography  of  any  creator,  has  been  too  superficial 
to  give  much  satisfaction.  We  are  still  a  long  way 
from  any  real  knowledge  of  the  psychological  facts 
and  principles  required  for  good  biography. 

Yet  in  glancing  back  at  his  career  we  cannot  fail 
to  get  some  valuable  lessons.  Nature  had  endowed 
him  with  good  though  not  wonderful  intellectual 
powers ;  but  she  had  been  lavish  in  the  manly  gifts  of 
energy,  common  sense,  will,  persistence,  and  courage. 
Ambition  drove  his  mind  and  body  —  strangely  com 
pounded  of  weakness  and  strength  —  through  the 
most  beneficial  intellectual  and  moral  discipline,  and 

1  Pioneers,  p.  xii. 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         235 

pushed  on  his  growth  to  full  maturity.  Unavowedly 
he  has  described  his  own  career  in  the  passage  placed 
on  the  title-page  of  this  memoir.  Even  among  artists 
who  have  been  financially  as  independent  as  he,  few 
if  any,  have  directed  their  lives  and  labors  so  closely 
in  accord  with  their  interior  forces.  He  allowed  none 
of  the  usual  distractions  of  life  to  interfere  with  him. 
Neither  physical  weakness,  personal  tastes  or  habits, 
outward  pleasures,  domestic  cares,  counsel  of  friends, 
changes  of  aim  or  method,  nor  the  influence  of  criti 
cism  and  public  opinion,  had  any  effect  on  this  man 
of  clear  vision  and  iron  will. 

Parkman's  highest  wisdom  lay  in  his  perception  of 
the  dangers  lurking  in  the  pursuit  of  technique.  He 
knew  how  readily  the  mind  becomes  enamoured  of  the 
hand;  how  rarely  the  artist  possesses  breadth  and 
strength  enough  to  resist  the  fascination,  so  that  only 
the  very  greatest  escape  blindness  to  the  fundamen 
tal  human  interests  of  art;  he  saw  that  the  most 
painful  aberrations  of  judgment,  the  worst  of  mis 
takes  in  subject  and  treatment  as  related  to  vital 
interests,  are  to  be  found  in  works  of  great  technical 
excellence.  Thus  he  feared  the  atmosphere  of  the 
study,  warned  students  against  "  emasculate  scholar 
ship,"  and  desired  to  keep  himself  broad  and  sane  by 
all  possible  contact  with  the  world. 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  observe  his  quiet  but  pro 
found  happiness  in  his  own  success,  as  an  offset  to  the 
unfortunate  side  of  his  life.  If  this  Spartan  at  times 
wished  for  death  as  a  relief  from  suffering,  he  received 


236  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

at  last  a  double  crown,  —  one  for  his  heroic  endurance 
and  another  for  his  productions. 

External  success  answered  generously  to  his  sacri 
fices.  It  is  true  that  for  a  long  time  his  financial 
profits  were  far  short  of  a  reasonable  recompense  for 
his  heavy  outlays  of  money  and  labor;  but  in  other 
ways  his  reward  wras  great.  The  most  prudent  and 
competent  critics  recognized  him  as  a  writer  of 
accuracy,  vivid  imagination,  cautious  temper,  and 
independent  judgment;  one  who  in  his  pages  united 
sound  scholarship  and  a  wide  interest  in  life  with 
literary  charm;  who  had  cast  a  halo  of  genuine 
romance  over  the  whole  of  North  America;  and 
whose  achievement  was  only  the  better  assured  by 
the  passage  of  time,  which  would  deny  to  his  suc 
cessors  personal  contact  with  the  Indian  and  the  fron 
tiersman.  He  could  not  have  asked  for  a  more 
substantial  reputation  in  his  specialty.  Those  who 
looked  beyond  immediate  accomplishment  to  the 
farther  reach  of  spiritual  aims,  looked  upon  him  as 
one  of  the  most  important  figures  in  American  liter 
ature,  not  only  by  the  brilliancy  of  his  productions, 
but  also  by  the  exaltation  he  gave  to  thoroughness 
and  discretion  in  scholarship.  He  had  the  further 
satisfaction  of  never  feeling  his  work  or  his  fame  on 
the  decline,  for  his  last  books  were  the  best.  Many 
degrees  and  honors  came  to  him  from  institutions  and 
societies  of  learning  in  America  and  Europe;  but  the 
reception  now  and  then  of  a  letter  from  some  live  boy 
who  wrote  to  express  his  enjoyment  of  "  La  Salle  "  or 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         237 

"Pontiac"  delighted  him  quite  as  much  as  these 
public  marks  of  appreciation.  This  brings  to  light 
another  of  the  oppositions  in  his  make-up.  In 
describing  Vassall  Morton  as  "ambitious  and  fond 
of  applause,"  and  in  referring  more  than  once  in  his 
other  writings  to  these  traits,  he  surely  gave  an  auto 
biographic  touch.  Nothing  short  of  the  greatest 
ambition  could  have  carried  him  through  such  difficult 
labors ;  and  to  value  commendation  of  the  right  kind 
was  perfectly  in  keeping  with  his  nature.  But  re 
serve,  dignity,  good  breeding,  and  hatred  of  all 
forms  of  self-aggrandizement  made  it  impossible  for 
him  to  bid  for  applause  in  any  way.  He  was  notice 
able  for  never  doing  anything  to  make  himself  per 
sonally  prominent,  or  even  to  advertise  his  literary 
productions.  Yet  so  inextricably  is  one's  life  and 
character  interwoven  with  his  artistic  aims  and  works, 
that  Parkman's  heroism  became  known  abroad  and 
attended  his  books  around  the  world.  No  man  had 
a  more  sovereign  scorn  than  he  for  physical  or  mental 
weakness,  or  for  the  pity  and  sympathy  that  is  apt  to 
come  so  annoyingly  close  to  the  victim  of  them.  One 
day,  in  talking  over  a  biographical  notice  in  which  a 
friend  had  dwelt  on  the  historian's  feebleness,  he  ex 
claimed  :  "  Damn  it,  I  'm  not  feeble !  "  But  although 
his  peculiar  temper  and  habit  of  stoical  endurance 
always  kept  him  personally  somewhat  aloof  from 
pity  and  tenderness,  his  sensitive  nature  accepted 
gratefully  a  straightforward  expression  of  sympathy, 
especially  if  offered  with  a  certain  reserve. 


238  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

The  world  thus  offered  him  its  highest  tribute  in 
recognizing  the  merit  of  his  work  and  the  personal 
worth  for  which  it  stands.  He  must  have  had,  too, 
the  inward  happiness  of  feeling  —  though  he  never 
would  have  uttered  it  —  that  what  he  had  done  per 
fectly  satisfied  the  artist's  need  of  self-expression. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE  picturesqueness  of  Parkman's  character  ap 
pears  vividly  in  his  citizenship.  The  making  of 
history  was  fully  as  interesting  to  him  as  the  writing 
of  it.  Such  an  eager  student  of  life  and  character 
could  not  be  indifferent  to  the  lines  of  our  national 
growth.  He  regarded  "the  direction  of  affairs  of 
State  as  the  noblest  field  of  human  effort;"  saying 
also:  "That  greatest  and  most  difficult  of  sciences, 
the  science  of  government,  dealing  with  interests  so 
delicate,  complicated,  and  antagonistic,  becomes  a 
perilous  guide  when  it  deserts  the  ways  of  temper 
ance."  He  took  his  civic  duties  to  heart  and,  con 
sidering  his  disabilities,  fulfilled  them  generously. 
Indeed,  these  impersonal  topics  were  sometimes  a 
welcome  outlet  for  feelings  that  could  hardly  break 
through  the  barrier  of  his  reserve  in  personal  mat 
ters,  or  get  suitable  opportunity  for  outlet  in  his 
torical  writing.  There  was  a  certain  grandeur  in 
the  impersonality  of  his  relations  to  life.  If  his 
sympathies  were  limited  on  the  spiritual  side,  they 
were  strong  and  quick  on  the  side  of  culture  and 
public  interests.  Nowhere  else  did  he  experience  so 


240  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

much  emotion,  or  give  such  forcible  expression  to  his 
individuality. 

His  miscellaneous  papers,  therefore,  although  few 
in  number  and  limited  in  range,  are  important  docu 
ments  in  studying  him.  His  intimate  conversation 
was  exceedingly  characteristic,  vigorous,  and  racy 
when  dealing  with  public  men  and  measures ;  but  it 
was  not  recorded  at  the  time,  and  it  cannot  be  recalled 
with  any  accuracy  of  detail.  Parkman  showed  him 
self  a  ready  and  acceptable  speaker  on  the  few  occa 
sions  when  he  accepted  invitations  to  speak  at  dinners 
or  other  meetings.  Although  only  occasionally  al 
lowing  himself  to  write  or  talk  of  current  events,  his 
opinions  on  many  topics  were  highly  valued  by  con 
servatives,  and  the  country  lost  much  by  the  infre- 
quency  of  the  warnings  from  this  keen-eyed  student 
of  life.  Feeling  so  much  concern  as  to  the  lines  of 
our  national  development  and  such  alarm  at  the 
gigantic  evils  growing  up  under  the  shelter  of  our 
political  system,  it  is  quite  certain  that  he  would 
have  written  much  more  on  public  affairs  had  his 
health  permitted. 

The  miscellaneous  papers  left  by  Parkman  admit 
us  to  some  of  the  innermost  courts  of  his  character; 
for  they  were  written  under  the  impulsion  of  strong 
.feeling  and  without  the  restraints  necessary  in  histor 
ical  composition.  They  reveal,  therefore,  many  of 
the  qualities  and  defects  that  were  structural  in  his 
nature  as  opposed  to  those  acquired  by  experience, 
culture,  and  force  of  will.  This  distinction  was  less 


PARKMAN   AS   SEEN  IN   HIS   WORKS         241 

easily  perceived  in  his  latter  years,  when  many  of  his 
native  tendencies  had  been  subdued  to  an  uncommon 
degree.  How  should  one  suspect  that  this  man  of 
quiet  manners  and  patient,  gentle  spirit  was  funda 
mentally  remarkable  for  exactly  the  opposite  qual 
ities  ?  Yet  one  of  his  classmates  said  that  Parkman's 
manner  in  the  college  debating  club  was  almost  pugi 
listic  in  its  vehemence.  Even  in  old  age,  talking  of 
certain  national  tendencies,  he  would  become  hot 
with  indignation,  speaking  in  unmeasured  terms,  and 
clenching  his  fist  with  the  desire  to  fight  injustice 
and  corruption.  Two  other  structural  elements  of 
his  character  are  displayed  in  these  papers,  —  con 
servatism  and  prejudice.  Both  sprang  from  his  in 
most  constitution;  yet,  as  we  shall  see,  their  lines 
were  happily  softened  by  liberality  and  the  judicial 
spirit.  Whatever  court  of  his  character  we  visit  in 
these  unrestrained,  unstudied  pages,  we  encounter 
solidity,  practicality,  objectivity,  hatred  of  theories; 
yet  we  also  find  these  materialistic  elements  infused 
with  noble  ambitions  for  honesty  and  culture.  Finely 
compounded  were  the  contradictions  of  this  non- 
philosophizing  philosopher,  this  unpoetical  poet,  this 
utilitarian  idealist. 

The  deepest  and  broadest  question  that  history  has 
to  answer  is :  What  kind  of  men  and  women  does  a 
given  civilization  produce  ?  Parkman  held  truly  that 
the  level  of  a  civilization  depends  on  the  worth  of  its 
units,  and  that  a  democracy  cannot  pursue  a  success 
ful  career  without  placing  the  direction  of  public 

16 


242  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

affairs  in  the  hands  of  worthy,  capable,  and  educated 
leaders.  This  was  the  very  corner-stone  of  his  polit 
ical  edifice. 

As  a  friend  of  learning  and  a  patriot,  he  felt  the 
scholar's  debt  to  civilization  in  return  for  the  bless 
ings  of  culture  and  protection.  Education,  especially 
the  higher  education  of  leaders  or  statesmen,  was 
consequently  the  civic  subject  that  most  fully  com 
manded  his  sympathies  and  as  much  time  and  strength 
as  could  be  spared  from  literary  labors.  He  expressed 
his  hopes  and  fears  for  education  and  its  relations  to 
our  national  life,  in  the  following  article : 1 

"  THE  TALE  OF  THE  «  RIPE  SCHOLAR.' 

"  Not  many  years  ago,  a  certain  traditional  prestige, 
independent  of  all  considerations  of  practical  utility,  at 
tached  to  the  scholastic  character,  at  least  in  New  Eng 
land  where  the  clergy  long  held  a  monopoly  of  what  passed 
for  learning.  New  England  colleges  were  once  little 
more  than  schools  for  making  ministers.  As  the  clergy 
has  lost  in  influence,  so  the  scholar  has  lost  in  repute, 
and  the  reasons  are  not  hard  to  find.  The  really  good 
scholars  were  exceptions,  and  very  rare  ones.  In  the 
matter  of  theology  some  notable  results  were  produced, 
but  secular  scholarship  was  simply  an  exotic,  and  a  sickly 
one.  It  never  recovered  from  its  transplantation,  and 
drew  no  vital  juices  from  the  soil.  The  climate  was  hos 
tile  to  it.  All  the  vigor  of  the  country  drifted  into  prac 
tical  pursuits,  and  the  New  England  man  of  letters,  when 

1  The  Nation,  Dec.  23,  1869. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN   HIS  WORKS         243 

he  happened  not  to  be  a  minister,  was  usually  some  per 
son  whom  constitutional  defects,  bodily  or  mental,  had 
unsuited  for  politics  or  business.  He  was  apt  to  be  a 
recluse,  ignorant  of  the  world,  bleached  by  a  close  room 
and  an  iron  stove,  never  breathing  the  outer  air  when  he 
could  help  it,  and  resembling  a  mediaeval  monk  in  his 
scorn  of  the  body,  or  rather  in  his  utter  disregard  of  it. 
Sometimes  he  was  reputed  a  scholar  merely  because  he 
was  nothing  else.  The  products  of  his  mind  were  as 
pallid  as  the  hue  of  his  face,  and,  like  their  parent,  void 
of  blood,  bone,  sinew,  muscle,  and  marrow.  That  he 
should  be  provincial  was,  for  a  long  time,  inevitable,  but 
that  he  was  emasculate  was  chiefly  his  own  fault.  As  his 
scholarship  was  not  fruitful  of  any  very  valuable  results, 
as  it  did  not  make  itself  felt  in  the  living  world  that 
ranged  round  it,  as,  in  short,  it  showed  no  vital  force,  it 
began  at  length  to  be  regarded  as  a  superfluous  excres 
cence.  Nevertheless,  like  the  monkish  learning  of  the 
middle  ages,  it  served  a  good  purpose  in  keeping  alive 
the  traditions  of  liberal  culture  against  a  future  renais 
sance.  We  shall  be  told  that  we  exaggerate,  and,  in  one 
sense,  this  is  true,  for  we  describe  not  an  individual,  but 
a  type,  from  which,  however,  the  reality  was  rarely  very 
remote,  and  with  which  it  was  sometimes  identified.  The 
most  finished  and  altogether  favorable  example  of  this 
devitalized  scholarship,  with  many  graceful  additions, 
was  Edward  Everett,  and  its  echoes  may  still  be  heard 
in  the  halls  of  Congress,  perplexing  Western  members 
with  Latin  quotations,  profuse,  if  not  always  correct. 

"  As  the  nation  grew  in  importance  and  in  sensitiveness, 
the  want  of  intellectual  productiveness  began  to  trouble 
the  popular  pride,  and  an  impatient  public  called  on  its 


244  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

authors  to  be  '  original.'  Spasmodic  efforts  were  made  to 
respond,  and  the  results  were  such  as  may  be  supposed. 
The  mountain  went  into  convulsions  of  labor  and  pro 
duced  a  mouse,  or  something  as  ridiculous.  After  an 
analogous  fashion  some  of  the  successors  of  our  pallid 
clerical  scholars  raise  the  cry,  'Let  us  be  strong,'  and 
fall  into  the  moral  and  physical  gymnastics  of  muscular 
Christianity.  This,  certainly,  is  no  bad  sign,  in  so  far  as 
it  indicates  the  consciousness  of  a  want;  but  neither 
originality  nor  force  can  be  got  up  to  order.  They  must 
spring  from  a  deeper  root  and  grow  by  laws  of  their  own. 
Happily  our  soil  has  begun  to  put  forth  such  a  growth, 
promising  in  quality,  but  as  yet  in  quantity  and  in  ma 
turity,  wholly  inadequate  to  the  exigent  need. 

"In  times  of  agitation,  alive  with  engrossing  questions 
of  pressing  moment,  when  all  is  astir  with  pursuit  and 
controversy,  when  some  are  mad  for  gold,  and  some  are 
earnest,  and  some  rabid  for  this  cause  or  for  that,  the 
scholarship  of  the  past  is  naturally  pronounced  not  up 
with  the  times.  Despite  his  manifold  failings,  'the  self- 
made  man,'  with  his  palatial  mansion,  his  exploits  in 
the  gold-room,  in  the  caucus,  on  the  stump,  in  Congress, 
and  in  the  presidential  chair,  flatters  popular  self-love  and 
fills  the  public  eye.  Only  a  slight  reason  is  wanted  for 
depreciating  the  scholar,  and  a  strong  one  is  offered. 
Because  the  culture  which  our  colleges  supplied,  and 
which  too  many  of  them  still  supply,  was  weak,  thin, 
and  unsuitable,  it  was  easy  to  depreciate  all  culture.  By 
culture  we  mean  development,  not  polish  or  adornment, 
though  these  are  its  natural  and  by  no  means  useless 
belongings.  Using  the  word,  then,  in  this  sense,  culture 
is  with  us  a  supreme  necessity,  not  for  the  benefit  of  a  few, 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEX  IN  HIS   WORKS         245 

but  of  all.  The  presence  of  minds  highly  and  vigorously 
developed  is  the  most  powerful  aid  to  popular  education, 
and  the  necessary  condition  of  its  best  success.  In  a 
country  where  the  ruling  power  is  public  opinion,  it  is 
above  all  things  necessary  that  the  best  and  maturest 
thought  should  have  a  fair  share  in  forming  it.  Such 
thought  cannot  exist  in  any  force  in  the  community  with 
out  propagating  its  own  image,  and  a  class  of  strong 
thinkers  is  the  palladium  of  democracy.  They  are  the 
natural  enemies  of  ignorant,  ostentatious,  and  aggressive 
wealth,  and  the  natural  friends  of  all  that  is  best  in  the 
popular  heart.  They  are  sure  of  the  hatred  of  charlatans, 
demagogues,  and  political  sharpers.  They  are  the  only 
hope  of  our  civilization;  without  them  it  is  a  failure,  a 
mere  platitude  of  mediocrity,  stagnant  or  turbid,  as  the 
case  may  be.  The  vastest  aggregate  of  average  intelli 
gences  can  do  nothing  to  supply  their  place,  and  even 
material  growth  is  impeded  by  an  ignorance  of  its  con 
ditions  and  laws.  If  we  may  be  forgiven  the  metaphor, 
our  civilization  is  at  present  a  creature  with  a  small  and 
feeble  head,  a  large,  muscular  and  active  body,  and  a  tail 
growing  at  such  a  rate  that  it  threatens  to  become  un 
manageable  and  shake  the  balance  of  the  vital  powers. 

"The  tendency  of  a  partial  education,  such  as  the  best 
popular  education  must  of  necessity  be,  is  to  produce  an 
excess  of  self-confidence;  and  one  of  its  results  in  this 
country  is  a  prodigious  number  of  persons  who  think, 
and  persuade  others  to  think,  that  they  know  everything 
necessary  to  be  known,  and  are  fully  competent  to  form 
opinions  and  make  speeches  upon  all  questions  whatever. 
As  these  are  precisely  the  persons  who  make  the  most 
noise  on  the  most  momentous  questions  of  the  day,  who 


246  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

have  the  most  listeners  and  admirers,  and  who  hold  each 
other  up  as  shining  examples  for  imitation,  their  incom- 
petency  becomes  a  public  evil  of  the  first  magnitude.  If 
rash  and  ignorant  theorizing,  impulsive  outcries,  and 
social  and  political  charlatanry  of  all  sorts  are  to  have 
the  guiding  of  our  craft,  then  farewell  to  the  hope  that 
her  voyage  will  be  a  success.  The  remedy  is  to  infuse 
into  the  disordered  system  the  sedative  and  the  tonic  of 
a  broad  knowledge  and  a  vigorous  reason.  This  means  to 
invigorate  and  extend  the  higher  education ;  to  substitute 
for  the  effete  and  futile  scholarship  which  the  popular 
mind  justly  holds  in  slight  account,  an  energetic  and 
manly  development,  trained  to  grapple  with  the  vast 
questions  of  the  present,  and  strong  enough  in  members 
to  temper  with  its  mature  thought  the  rashness  of  popular 
speculation.  Our  best  colleges  are  moving  hopefully  in 
this  direction;  none  of  them  with  more  life  and  vigor 
than  the  oldest  of  them  all.  The  present  generation  will 
see  an  increase  in  the  number  of  our  really  efficient 
thinkers,  but  it  is  a  positive,  not  a  relative  increase  and 
is  far  behind  the  fast  increasing  need.  Powerful  causes 
are  at  work  against  it,  and  we  will  try  to  explain  what, 
to  our  thinking,  some  of  these  causes  are. 

"  Perhaps  the  most  obvious  of  them  is  the  ascendency  of 
material  interests  among  us.  To  the  great  mass  of  our 
population,  the  clearing  of  lands,  the  acquiring  of  new 
territory,  the  building  of  cities,  the  multiplication  of  rail 
roads,  steamboats,  and  telegraph  lines,  the  growth  of 
trade  and  manufactures,  the  opening  of  mines,  with  the 
resulting  fine  houses,  fine  clothes,  and  sumptuous  fare, 
constitute  the  real  sum  and  substance  of  progress  and 
civilization.  Art,  literature,  philosopl^,  and  science  — 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN   IK    HIS   WORKS         247 

so  far  as  science  has  no  direct  bearing  on  material  inter 
ests —  are  regarded  as  decorations,  agreeable  and  credit 
able,  but  not  essential.  In  other  words,  the  material 
basis  of  civilization  is  accepted  for  the  entire  structure. 
A  prodigious  number  of  persons  think  that  money-making 
is  the  only  serious  business  of  life,  and  there  is  no  cor 
responding  number  who  hold  a  different  faith.  There  are 
not  a  few  among  us  who  would  '  improve '  our  colleges 
into  schools  of  technology,  where  young  men  may  be 
trained  with  a  view  mainly  to  the  production  of  more 
steamboats,  railroads,  and  telegraphs;  more  breadstuffs; 
more  iron,  copper,  silver,  and  gold;  more  cottons  and 
woollens;  and,  consequently,  more  fine  houses  and  fine 
clothes.  All  this  is  very  well,  but  it  does  not  answer 
the  crying  need  of  the  time.  The  truth  is,  our  material 
growth  so  greatly  exceeds  our  other  growth  that  the 
body  politic  suffers  from  diseases  of  repletion.  A  patient 
bloated  with  generous  living,  and  marked  already  with 
the  eruptions  of  a  perverted,  diseased  blood,  is  not  to  be 
cured  solely  by  providing  him  with  more  food. 

"  The  drift  towards  material  activity  is  so  powerful 
among  us  that  it  is  very  difficult  for  a  young  man  to 
resist  it;  and  the  difficulty  increases  in  proportion  as  his 
nature  is  active  and  energetic.  Patient  and  devoted 
study  is  rarely  long  continued  in  the  vortex  of  American 
life.  The  dusty  arena  of  competition  and  strife  has  fas 
cinations  almost  irresistible  to  one  conscious  of  his  own 
vigor.  Intellectual  tastes  may,  however,  make  a  com 
promise.  Journalism  and  the  lecture-room  offer  them  a 
field  midway  between  the  solitude  of  the  study  and  the 
bustle  of  the  world  of  business;  but  the  journal  and  the 
lecture-room  have  influences  powerfully  adverse  to  solid, 


248  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

mature,  and  independent  thinking.  There,  too,  is  the 
pulpit,  for  those  who  have  a  vocation  that  way;  but  in 
this,  also,  a  mighty  and  increasing  temptation  besets  the 
conscientious  student.  As  for  politics,  they  have  fallen 
to  such  a  pass  that  the  men  are  rare  who  can  mingle  in 
them  without  deteriorating. 

"  Paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  the  diffusion  of  education 
and  intelligence  is  at  present  acting  against  the  free  de 
velopment  of  the  highest  education  and  intelligence. 
Many  have  hoped  and  still  hope  that  by  giving  a  partial 
teaching  to  great  numbers  of  persons,  a  stimulus  would 
be  applied  to  the  best  minds  among  them,  and  a  thirst  for 
knowledge  awakened  which  would  lead  to  high  results ; 
but  thus  far  these  results  have  not  equalled  the  expecta 
tion.  There  has  been  a  vast  expenditure  of  brick  and 
mortar  for  educational  purposes,  and,  what  is  more  to  the 
purpose,  many  excellent  and  faithful  teachers  of  both 
sexes  have  labored  diligently  in  their  vocation;  but  the 
system  of  competitive  cramming  in  our  public  schools  has 
not  borne  fruits  on  which  we  have  much  cause  to  con 
gratulate  ourselves.  It  has  produced  an  immense  number 
of  readers ;  but  what  thinkers  are  to  be  found  may  be  said 
to  exist  in  spite  of  it.  The  public  school  has  put  money 
in  abundance  in  the  pockets  of  the  dealers  in  sensation 
stories,  sensation  newspapers,  and  all  the  swarm  of  trivial, 
sickly,  and  rascally  literature.  From  this  and  cheap 
newspapers  thousands,  nay,  millions,  draw  all  their  men 
tal  improvement,  and  pamper  their  mental  stomachs  with 
adulterated,  not  to  say  poisoned,  sweetmeats,  till  they 
have  neither  desire  nor  digestion  for  strong  and  whole 
some  food.  But  we  would  speak  rather  of  that  truly 
intelligent  and  respectable  public  which  forms  the  audi- 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         249 

tories  of  popular  preachers  and  popular  lecturers,  which 
is  the  lavish  patron  of  popular  periodical  literature,  which 
interests  itself  in  the  questions  of  the  day,  and  has  keen 
mental  appetites  of  a  certain  kind.  This  public  is  strong 
in  numbers  and  very  strong  in  collective  wealth.  .  Its 
voice  can  confer  celebrity,  if  not  reputation;  and  it  can 
enrich  those  who  have  its  favor.  In  truth,  it  is  the  Amer 
ican  people.  Now,  what  does  this  great  public  want  ? 
It  is,  in  the  main,  busied  with  the  active  work  of  life, 
and  though  it  thinks  a  little  and  feels  a  great  deal  on 
matters  which  ought  to  engage  the  attention  of  every 
self-governing  people,  yet  it  is  impatient  of  continuous 
and  cool  attention  to  anything  but  its  daily  business,  and 
sometimes  even  to  that.  Indeed,  the  exciting  events  of 
the  last  ten  years,  joined  to  the  morbid  stimulus  applied 
to  all  departments  of  business,  have  greatly  increased  this 
tendency;  and  to-day  there  are  fewer  serious  and  thought 
ful  readers  than  in  the  last  decade.  More  than  ever 
before  the  public  demands  elocution  rather  than  reason 
of  those  who  address  it;  something  to  excite  the  feelings 
and  captivate  the  fancy  rather  than  something  to  instruct 
the  understanding.  It  rejoices  in  sweeping  statements, 
confident  assertions,  bright  lights  and  black  shadows 
alternating  with  something  funny.  Neither  does  it  care 
much  for  a  terse,  idiomatic,  and  pointed  diction,  but  gen 
erally  prefers  the  flatulent  periods  of  the  read}?-  writers. 
On  matters  of  the  gravest  interest  it  craves  to  be  excited 
or  amused.  Lectures  professing  to  instruct  are  turned  to 
a  tissue  of  jokes,  and  the  pulpit  itself  is  sometimes  en 
livened  after  a  similar  fashion.  The  pill  must  be  sugared 
and  the  food  highly  seasoned,  for  the  public  mind  is  in  a 
state  of  laxity  and  needs  a  tonic.  But  the  public  taste  is 


250  A  LIFE   OF   FRAXCIS   PARKMAN 

very  exacting,  and  it  offers  great  and  tempting  rewards  to 
those  who  please  it. 

"That  which  pleases  it  pays  so  much  better  in  money 
and  notoriety,  and  is  so  much  cheaper  of  production,  than 
the  better  article  which  does  not  please  it,  that  the  temp 
tation  to  accept  light  work  and  high  wages  in  place  of 
hard  work  and  low  wages  is  difficult  to  resist.  Nothing 
but  a  deep  love  of  truth  or  of  art  can  stand  unmoved 
against  it.  In  our  literary  markets,  educated  tastes  are 
completely  outridden  by  uneducated  or  half-educated  tastes, 
and  the  commodity  is  debased  accordingly.  Thus,  the 
editor  of  a  magazine  may  be  a  man  of  taste  and  talents ; 
but  his  interests  as  a  man  of  letters  and  his  interests  as 
a  man  of  business  are  not  the  same.  '  Why  don't  you 
make  your  magazine  what  it  ought  to  be  ?  '  we  once  asked 
a  well-known  editor.  ' Because,'  he  replied,  'if  we  did 
we  should  lose  four-fifths  of  our  circulation.'  A  noted 
preacher  not  long  ago  confessed  to  us  that  the  temptation 
to  give  his  audience  the  sort  of  preaching  which  they 
liked  to  hear,  instead  of  that  which  it  was  best  that  they 
should  hear,  was  almost  irresistible. 

"The  amount  of  what  we  have  been  saying  is,  that  the 
public  which  demands  a  second-rate  article  is  so  enor 
mously  large  in  comparison  with  the  public  which  de 
mands  a  first-rate  article  that  it  impairs  the  quality  of 
literary  production,  and  exercises  an  influence  adverse  to 
the  growth  of  intellectual  eminence.  Now,  what  is  the 
remedy  ?  It  seems  to  us  to  be  twofold.  First,  to  direct 
popular  education,  not  to  stuffing  the  mind  with  crude 
aggregations  of  imperfect  knowledge,  but  rather  to  the 
development  of  its  powers  of  observation,  comparison, 
analysis,  and  reasoning;  to  strengthening  and  instruct- 


PARKMAN  AS    SEEN  IN   HIS   WORKS        251 

ing  its  moral  sense,  and  leading  it  to  self-knowledge  and 
consequent  modesty.  All  this,  no  doubt,  is  vastly  more 
difficult  and  far  less  showy  in  its  results  than  the  present 
system  of  competitive  cramming,  and  requires  in  its 
teachers  a  high  degree  of  good  sense  and  sound  instruc 
tion.  The  other  remedy  consists  in  a  powerful  re- 
enforcement  of  the  higher  education,  and  the  consequent 
development  of  a  class  of  persons,  whether  rich  or  poor, 
so  well  instructed  and  so  numerous  as  to  hold  their 
ground  against  charlatanry,  and  propagate  sound  and 
healthy  thought  through  the  community.  He  who  gives 
or  beqiieathes  money  to  a  well-established  and  wisely- 
conducted  university  confers  a  blessing  which  radiates 
through  all  the  ranks  of  society.  He  does  a  service 
eminently  practical,  and  constitutes  himself  the  patron 
of  the  highest  and  best  utilitarianism." 

One  of  the  most  important  influences  Parkman  had 
on  his  times  was  to  stimulate  a  love  of  thoroughness 
in  scholarship.  This  was  done  through  his  works, 
and  through  his  relations  with  individual  men,  insti 
tutions,  and  the  press.  His  interest  in  public  libraries 
needs  hardly  to  be  stated.  He  helped  by  his  mem 
bership  and  counsel  a  large  number  of  learned  socie 
ties  in  the  United  States,  Canada,  and  Europe.  The 
Archaeological  Institute  of  America  felt  his  influence 
perhaps  more  than  any  other  society.  It  was  orig 
inally  projected  by  scholars  of  especially  classical 
tastes ;  but  not  meeting  with  sufficient  support  they 
soon  called  on  Parkman  and  others  for  help.  At  the 
organizing  meeting  the  classicists  for  a  time  had  their 


252  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

own  way  and  imposed  European  subjects  as  the  aim 
of  the  society's  labors ;  but  Parkman  so  ably  and  vig 
orously  presented  the  claims  of  America  as  to  cause 
the  enlargement  of  those  aims  to  cover  a  broader  field. 
As  long  as  he  served  in  the  executive  committee  and 
the  council,  he  remained  the  champion  of  American 
themes.  The  investigations  carried  on  by  Gushing, 
Bandelier,  Captain  Bourke,  Miss  Fletcher,  and 
others,  naturally  attracted  him,  and,  although  he 
could  not  read  enough  to  follow  their  labors  closely, 
he  personally  aided  them  in  many  ways.  With  no 
fondness  for  ancient  history  and  classical  subjects, 
he  yet  contributed  to  the  fund  for  establishing  the 
American  School  of  Classical  Studies  at  Athens. 
All  students  and  societies  seeking  information  found 
him  ever  generous  with  his  stores  of  learning.  Some 
of  his  hardest  efforts,  indeed,  made  at  times  when 
labor  was  most  difficult,  were  put  forth  to  help 
students  of  history  in  collecting  or  publishing 
documents,  —  as  in  the  case  of  Stevens,  Margry, 
Bannestier,  and  others. 

His  interest  in  our  public  schools  was  of  the  deep 
est,  even  as  his  demands  for  them  were  of  the  highest. 
He  said: 

4 1  We  are  told  that,  to  make  a  bad  voter  a  good  one,  we 
have  only  to  educate  him.  His  defect,  however,  is  not 
merely  intellectual.  It  consists  also  in  the  want  of  the 
feeling  that  his  own  interests  are  connected  with  those  of 
the  community,  and  in  the  weakness  or  absence  of  the 
sense  of  moral  and  political  duty.  The  evil  is  not  to  be 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         253 

cured  by  reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic.  The  public 
school  may  cram  his  brain  with  all  it  is  capable  of  con 
taining,  and  he  will  be  no  whit  the  better  citizen  for  the 
process.  It  might  train  instead  of  cramming  him,  lay 
the  foundation  of  a  sound  morality,  and  teach  him  some 
thing  of  political  and  social  duty;  but  such  education  is 
more  difficult  than  that  now  in  vogue,  and  demands 
more  judgment  and  ability  in  those  who  conduct  it. 
To  teach  the  teacher  must  be  the  first  step ;  and  here,  as 
in  everything  else  connected  with  public  education,  we 
find  ourselves  moving  in  a  vicious  circle.  To  whom  have 
we  entrusted  these  high  and  delicate  interests?  They 
demand  the  best  intelligence  and  the  best  conscience  of 
the  community  ;  and  yet  their  control  rests,  in  the  last 
resort,  with  legislatures  and  municipal  bodies  represent 
ing  in  part  that  very  public  which  needs  education  the 
most  —  wretched,  wire-pulling  demagogues,  ignorant  as 
the  constituencies  that  chose  them,  reckless  of  public 
duty,  and  without  the  faintest  notion  of  what  true  edu 
cation  is.  In  such  education  rests  the  only  hope  of 
democracies;  but  it  is  vain  to  look  for  it  unless  the  wiser 
half  of  the  public  can  regain  its  virtual  control."  l 

Parkman's  concern  for  education  thus  sprang  from 
love  of  learning  and  patriotism  combined.  Speaking 
of  the  Catholic  attacks  on  our  public  schools  he 
said: 

"The  common  school  system  with  its  harmonizing  and 
assimilating  influences  is  the  life  of  our  institutions;  and 
if  New  England  is  not  to  lose  all  that  is  best  in  her  we 

1  North  American  Review,  July,  1878,  p.  9. 


254  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PAKKMAN 

must  defend  it  with  a  firmness  at  once  temperate  and 
unyielding. " 

He  was,  however,  opposed  to  any  bigoted  anti- 
Catholic  agitation,  and  believed  that  "the  most 
effective  defence  of  public  schools  will  be  the  increase 
of  their  teaching  efficiency  and  the  maintenance 
and  growth  of  their  superiority  over  the  parochial 
schools."1 

But  much  as  he  valued  popular  education,  he  had 
little  faith  in  it  by  itself  to  safeguard  our  institu 
tions;  insisting  that  it  must  be  directed  by  minds 
of  superior  culture,  and  that  if  common  schools 
are  necessary  to  a  democracy,  universities  of  the 
highest  excellence  are  still  more  important. 

His  most  important  activities  as  a  citizen  and  a 
friend  of  learning  were  his  laboTs  in  helping  the 
growth  of  Harvard  College  into  a  university.  With 
his  strong  sense  of  civic  obligation  he  maintained 
that  every  rich  man  must  give  freely,  and  every 
educated  man  must  labor  earnestly  for  the  welfare 
of  the  land  that  shelters  him.  The  infirmities  that 
imposed  so  many  privations  upon  his  course  of  life, 
deprived  him  of  strength  for  serving  in  public  and 
exacting  positions.  Harvard  therefore  furnished  a 
welcome  outlet  for  his  patriotism,  and  a  precious 
opportunity  for  discharging  a  sacred  obligation. 
Nothing  outdoes  the  Board  of  a  great  university  in 
the  diversity  and  importance  of  the  questions  which 
come  up  for  discussion;  they  range  over  the  entire 

1  Our  Common  Schools. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         255 

field  of  civilization,  —  art,  science,  religion,  industry, 
war,  commerce,  politics,  —  in  short,  every  human 
interest ;  and  back  of  all  these  external  achievements 
lies  the  heart  of  the  matter:  the  growth  of  character. 
Parkman  was  especially  valuable  in  this  place,  and 
gave  himself  freely  to  the  duties  of  his  office.  As 
no  records  exist  of  his  efforts  therein,  we  can  only 
sketch  roughly  the  general  lines  of  his  views. 

Parkman  had  strong  local  attachments,  and  Har 
vard  College  in  particular  commanded  his  affection 
and  gratitude.  He  was  indeed  closely  bound  to  her, 
for  many  of  his  ancestors  were  sons  of  Harvard ;  his 
father  had  been  an  Overseer  and  benefactor;  he  him 
self  had  formed  there  many  lasting  friendships,  and 
conceived  the  object  of  his  life-work.  "  La  Salle  " 
was  dedicated  to  the  class  of  1844,  "  Montcalm  and 
Wolfe  "  to  Harvard  College.  His  official  connection 
with  the  college  began  in  1852,  when  the  Overseers 
appointed  him  to  a  vacancy  in  the  committee  for 
examining  in  history.  By  1868  his  fame  led  the 
alumni  to  select  him  as  one  of  the  Overseers  for  the 
term  of  six  years ;  but  he  was  able  to  serve  only  half 
that  period.  In  1874  he  was  again  elected  to  the 
same  office  by  a  large  majority.  In  1875  the  most 
gratifying  tribute  of  all  was  paid  to  his  worth  and 
eminence  —  election  as  a  Fellow  of  the  Corporation 
of  Harvard  College.  In  this  Board  of  seven  mem 
bers  he  served  until  obliged  by  infirmities  to  resign 
in  1888. 

His  position  on  the  Board  was  unique,  he  being 


256  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  first  man  chosen  into  the  corporation  during  the 
present  century  because  of  his  eminence  as  a  student 
and  author.  As  thus  distinguished  from  those  emi 
nent  in  the  so-called  learned  professions,  he  was  the 
last  scholar  on  the  Board.  His  state  of  health  pre 
venting  him  from  attending  to  practical  matters  of 
administration,  he  was  little  more  than  an  adviser; 
but  as  such  distinctly  represented  the  higher  scholarly 
interests.  Thus  his  wisdom  had  an  important  influ 
ence  in  the  development  of  the  university. 

He  was  always  faithful  in  attendance  when  his 
infirmities  did  not  absolutely  prevent  it.  His  love 
of  discipline  and  order  showed  itself  in  his  punctu 
ality;  if  ever  five  minutes  late  at  a  meeting,  he  failed 
not  to  apologize;  and  whenever  he  met  Mr.  Eliot, 
who  was  ten  years  his  junior,  he  always  addressed 
him  as  Mr.  President.  His  attendance  at  the  meet 
ings  was  often  touching,  as  an  evidence  of  his  inter 
est  and  sense  of  duty.  After  sitting  perhaps  an 
hour,  the  knitted  brows,  the  flushed  face,  and  a  dazed, 
oppressed  expression  showed  that  his  brain  could  no 
longer  endure  the  strain  of  mental  application.  He 
would  then  excuse  himself,  get  up  and  walk  about 
the  room,  or  go  out  of  doors,  returning  in  a  few  min 
utes  to  his  place  at  the  table. 

The  general  lines  of  Parkman's  educational  work 
were  apparently  irreconcilable  with  some  of  his  basic 
traits.  Intensely  conservative  in  most  things,  he 
represented  the  liberals  in  education  and  the  radicals 
in  religion.  Out  of  sympathy  as  he  was  with  many 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         257 

elements  of  modern  life,  he  yet  labored  in  unison 
with  President  Eliot  not  merely  to  expand  Harvard 
College  into  a  university,  but  to  fit  it  closely  to  mod 
ern  needs. 

But  his  deepest  concern  in  culture  regarded  its 
influence  in  the  development  of  character. 

"We  of  ISTew  England,'7  he  wrote,  "are  a  bookish 
people.  With  us,  the  idea  of  education  is  inseparable 
from  school-houses,  schoolmasters,  lyceums,  public  libra 
ries,  colleges,  and  diplomas.  Yet  these  are  but  second 
ary  agencies  —  pallid,  nerveless,  and  emasculate,  beside 
those  mighty  educational  powers  which  spring  out  of  the 
currents  of  life  itself,  the  hopes,  the  fears,  the  responsi 
bilities,  the  exigencies,  the  action  or  the  idleness,  the 
enjoyment  or  the  suffering,  the  associations,  the  friend 
ships,  enmities,  rivalries,  and  conflicts,  which  make  the 
sum  of  each  man's  vital  history."  * 

He  thus  depended  on  the  cultivation  of  judgment  by 
close  contact  with  nature  and  men,  quite  as  much  as 
on  the  pursuit  of  technical  learning.  In  his  own 
schooling  he  had  followed  this  idea  and  won  a  rich 
reward.  He  hated  bookworms  and  "unproductive 
digs,"  fearing  the  mirage  of  the  study,  and  continu 
ally  warning  men  against  "emasculate  scholarship." 
Strangely  enough,  he  cherished  great  aversion  for 
many  elements  of  the  intellectual  life,  and  detested 
even  the  words  culture  and  refinement,  because  of 
the  artificialities  connected  with  them. 

Viewing  education  as  the  beginning  of  a  growth 

1  A  letter  to  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser,  July  17,  1863. 
17 


258  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

that  must  continue  throughout  life,  he  felt  that  the 
student's  chief  need  was  manly  virtue.  His  own 
love  of  the  wilderness  clearly  reflected  itself  in  his 
ideals.  He  demanded  that  the  student  should  be  an 
improved  savage,  —  virile,  natural,  full  of  strength 
and  dexterity,  resourceful  in  emergencies,  and  inti 
mate  with  nature ;  but  at  the  same  time  governed  by 
delicacy  and  decorum. 

If  ever  a  man  believed  in  the  motto,  "A  healthy 
mind  in  a  healthy  body,"  that  man  was  Parkman. 
His  contempt  was  called  forth  by  physical  weakness 
more  frequently,  I  think,  than  by  any  other  defect  of 
humanity.  He  would  often  exclaim,  "How  I  hate 
'em,"  in  speaking  of  weakly  or  unattractive  specimens 
of  the  race.  The  ground  on  which  he  built  his  hopes 
for  America  was  large  families  of  strong,  healthy 
children.  Now  and  then  he  uttered  strong  language 
against  the  small  families  of  our  Americans ;  for  he 
saw  in  the  decline  of  the  native  Protestant  element 
in  our  population  the  gravest  dangers  to  our  national 
institutions. 

His  admiration  for  strenuous  virility  was  the  chief 
cause  of  his  amusing  aversion  for  ministers.  Despite 
a  long  line  of  clerical  ancestors,  this  feeling  sprang 
up  in  his  boyhood,  and  under  the  paternal  roof. 
One  day  when  a  pious  old  lady,  who  was  noted  for 
her  admiration  of  clergymen,  called  on  the  Reverend 
Dr.  Parkman,  Frank  sat  down  by  the  window  to 
amuse  himself  by  drawing  caricatures.  When  on 
rising  to  depart  she  went  over  to  see  his  sketch,  she 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         259 

found  a  picture  of  three  devils  carrying  off  three 
ministers  on  pitchforks,  gowns  and  bands  fluttering 
in  the  air  with  the  speed  of  their  progress.  He  never 
lost  this  dislike  of  the  cloth.  In  his  old  age,  writing 
of  a  boy  who  had  been  named  after  him,  he  said 
jocosely :  "  I  hope  the  youngster  will  do  honor  to  the 
name.  He  should  be  brought  up  to  some  respect 
able  calling  and  not  allowed  to  become  a  minister." 
He  had  seen  in  history  only  too  often  how  prone 
were  theological  studies  to  make  men  narrow,  hypo 
critical  and  cruel;  and  shrank,  instinctively,  from 
nearly  every  element  of  their  training,  life,  and 
character,  often  gratifying  his  love  of  humor  and  of 
strong  language  by  calling  them  "vermin."  He 
thought  them,  as  a  class,  vague,  gushing,  soft,  spoilt 
by  women's  attentions,  sentimental,  unenergetic,  and 
insincere  in  their  professions  of  faith.  It  is  perhaps 
needless  to  add  that  this  instinctive  dislike  of  the 
profession  did  not  prevent  him  from  counting  among 
his  friends  several  members  of  it  for  whom  he  had  the 
highest  regard.  Until  the  Harvard  Theological 
School  was  made  non-sectarian,  he  could  not  be  in 
duced  to  take  the  slightest  interest  in  it,  nor  did  he 
like  any  mention  of  the  chair  in  it  that  was  founded 
by  his  father. 

The  education  of  woman  called  forth  very  few 
utterances  from  Parkman ;  and  these  were  such  inci 
dental  remarks  in  the  discussion  of  woman-suffrage 
that  they  were  hardly  heard.  While  favoring  the 
establishment  of  Radcliffe  College  in  affiliation  with 


260  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Harvard,  he  opposed  the  granting  of  diplomas  to 
women,  and  distrusted  the  employment  of  the  already 
fully  occupied  professors  of  Harvard  as  teachers  in 
RadclifTe.  Yet  his  interest  in  woman's  education  was 
sincere  and  far-sighted.  In  speaking  of  maternity 
he  said: 

"It  is  the  root  and  stem  of  national  existence,  while 
the  occupations  of  men  are  but  the  leaves  and  branches. 
On  women  of  the  intelligent  and  instructed  classes  de 
pends  the  future  of  the  nation.  If  they  are  sound  in 
body  and  mind,  impart  this  soundness  to  numerous  off 
spring,  and  rear  them  to  a  sense  of  responsibility  and 
duty,  there  are  no  national  evils  that  we  cannot  over 
come.  If  they  fail  to  do  their  part,  then  the  masses  of 
the  coarse  and  unintelligent,  always  of  rapid  increase, 
will  overwhelm  us  and  our  institutions.  ...  To  give 
women  a  thorough  and  wholesome  training  both  of  body 
and  mind;  to  prepare  such  of  them  as  have  strength  and 
opportunity  for  various  occupations  different  from  what 
they  usually  exercise,  and  above  all  for  the  practice  of 
medicine,  in  which  we  believe  that  they  may  render  valu 
able  service;  to  rear  them  in  more  serious  views  of  life 
and  its  responsibilities,  are  all  in  the  way  of  normal  and 
healthy  development.  ...  In  the  full  and  normal  de 
velopment  of  womanhood  lie  the  best  interests  of  the 
world." 

Although  not  sympathizing  greatly  with  the  training 
of  woman  for  any  career  that  takes  them  away  from 
home,  he  desired  for  them  breadth  of  culture  in  the 
fundamentals  of  character. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS         261 

His  term  of  service  in  Harvard  covered  a  period  of 
important  changes.  The  adoption  of  elective  courses, 
the  granting  of  more  freedom  and  self-government  to 
students,  the  change  from  the  old  recitation  to  the 
lecture  system,  the  development  of  all  kinds  of 
athletic  sports,  and  the  expansion  of  the  curriculum 
to  promote  the  higher  intellectual  culture,  —  these 
features  wrought  a  complete  transformation  of  college 
life.  And  Parkman  welcomed  them  all,  for  all 
appealed  to  manliness  and  a  sense  of  responsibility. 
A  firm  belief  in  the  inductive  method  led  him  to  a 
deep  interest  in  the  development  of  scientific  lines  of 
education.  He  took  much  pleasure  in  his  meetings 
with  Agassiz,  Wyman,  Gray  and  other  scientists ;  and 
showed  towards  some  of  this  class,  whom  personally 
he  did  not  like,  a  respect  and  deference  not  common 
in  his  self-reliant  mentality.  But,  although  drawn  to 
the  scientific,  practical,  objective  side  of  things,  he 
deprecated  any  tendency  to  convert  a  university  into 
a  group  of  merely  technical  schools;  it  should,  he 
thought,  remain  distinctly  the  centre  of  the  highest 
intellectual  culture  and  influence.  As  to  methods  of 
instruction  and  discipline,  he  would  leave  students 
and  professors  perfectly  free,  with  the  exception  of 
one  unfailing  demand  as  to  results  —  thoroughness, 
without  sterilization  by  too  exclusive  pursuit  of  eru 
dition.  Perhaps  one  of  his  best  traits  was  an  utter 
contempt  for  superficial  education;  he  had  a  mission 
to  puncture  shams  and  expose  the  dangers  of  preten 
tious  ignorance.  It  may  be  noted  in  passing  that  his 


262  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

conservative  spirit  led  him  always  to  call  the  institu 
tion  by  its,  old  name  of  Harvard  College,  though  it  is 
quite  possible  this  practice  was  in  part  due  to  that 
high  standard  of  sincerity  which  would  hold  back  the 
greater  name  until  the  school  should  really  attain  its 
full  growth. 

In  addition  to  these  general  interests  in  the  devel 
opment  of  Harvard,  Parkman  held  one  special  aim  of 
prime  importance.  Having  at  heart  our  national 
welfare,  he  could  never  lose  sight  of  the  privileges 
and  responsibilities  of  the  university  in  regard  to 
national  growth.  He  dreaded  the  levelling-down 
tendencies  of  democratic  equality.  An  extract  from 
"  The  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage  "  will  show  this 
plainly : 

"The  slow  but  ominous  transfer  of  power  from  supe 
rior  to  inferior  types  of  men,  as  shown  in  city  coun 
cils,  legislatures,  and  Congress,  has  told  with  withering 
effect  on  the  growth  of  true  political  ability.  Debased 
as  our  politics  are,  they  do  not  invite,  and  hardly  even 
admit,  the  higher  and  stronger  faculties  to  a  part  in 
them.  Liberal  education  is  robbed  of  its  best  continu 
ance  and  consummation,  in  so  far  as  it  is  sbut  out  from 
that  noblest  field  of  human  effort,  the  direction  of  affairs 
of  state;  that  career  of  combined  thought  and  action 
where  all  the  forces  of  the  mind  are  called  forth,  and  of 
which  the  objects  and  results  are  to  those  of  the  average 
American  politician  what  the  discoveries  and  inventions 
of  applied  science  are  to  the  legerdemain  of  a  street 
juggler.  The  professions  still  remain  open,  and  in  these 
comparatively  limited  fields  the  results  are  good.  Liter- 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS         263 

ature  offers  another  field;  but  here  the  temptation  is 
powerful  to  write  or  speak  down  to  the  level  of  that 
vast  average  of  education  which  makes  the  largest  returns 
in  profit  and  celebrity.  The  best  literature  we  have  has 
followed  the  natural  law  arid  sprung  up  in  two  or  three 
places  where  educated  intelligence  has  reached  a  point 
high  enough  to  promise  it  a  favorable  hearing.  For  the 
rest,  our  writers  address  themselves  to  an  audience  so 
much  accustomed  to  light  food  that  they  have  no  stomach 
for  the  strong.  The  public  has  its  effect  too  on  the 
pulpit.  It  is  pleasanter  to  tell  the  hearer  what  he  likes 
to  hear  than  to  tell  him  what  he  needs ;  and  the  love  of 
popularity  is  not  confined  to  the  laity.  From  one  point 
of  view,  the  higher  education  is  of  no  great  use  among 
us.  It  is  not  necessary  to  make  a  millionaire,  a  party 
leader,  such  as  our  party  leaders  are,  or  a  popular 
preacher  or  writer.  So  little  is  it  needed  for  such  pur 
poses,  that  the  country  is  full  of  so-called  '  practical 
men,'  who  cry  out  against  it  in  scorn.  Yet,  from  a 
true  point  of  view,  it  is  of  supreme  use  and  necessity, 
and  a  deep  responsibility  rests  on  those  who  direct  it. 
What  shall  be  its  aims?  Literature,  scholarship  and 
physical  science,  are  all  of  importance,  but,  considered 
in  themselves,  their  place  is  subordinate,  for  they  cannot 
alone  meet  the  requirements  of  the  times.  It  has  been 
said  that  liberal  culture  tends  to  separate  men  from  the 
nation  at  large,  and  form  them  into  a  class  apart;  and, 
without  doubt,  this  is  to  a  certain  degree  true  of  the 
merely  aesthetic,  literary  or  scholastic  culture.  What  we 
most  need  is  a  broad  and  masculine  education,  bearing 
on  questions  of  society  and  government;  not  repelling 
from  active  life,  but  preparing  for  it  and  impelling 


264  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

toward  it.     The   discipline   of  the  university  should  be 
a  training  for  the  arena." 

A  man  who  really  believes  that  the  salvation  of  a 
democracy  depends  on  its  having  leaders  of  worth 
and  culture,  will  naturally  insist  on  the  formation  of 
statesmen.  Parkman  maintained  that  orators  will 
always  exert  great  influence  over  the  masses,  and 
not  lose  their  power  even  with  the  growth  of  the 
press.  He  therefore  proposed  and  urged  the  estab 
lishment  of  the  course  called  "English  6,"  whose 
object  is  to  develop  debaters,  and  prepare  men  to 
discuss  questions  connected  with  political  science 
and  history. 

Parkman's  labors  in  Harvard  sprang  chiefly  from 
one  side  of  his  nature.  By  inheritance  a  conserva 
tive  utilitarian,  he  became  in  education  a  liberal, 
and  almost  an  idealist.  His  associates  speak  of 
him  as  distinctly  the  representative  of  the  higher 
scholarly  interests.  From  one  point  of  view  this  is 
surprising;  since  he  felt  little  personal  interest  in 
philosophical,  sesthetic,  or  spiritual  questions.  Pos 
sibly  this  estimate  sprang  from  a  perception  of  the 
purity  and  energy  of  his  intellectual  nature,  quite  as 
much  as  from  his  particular  desires  and  efforts.  He 
sought  especially  the  welfare  of  the  students  in  re 
gard  to  developing  manliness,  and  watched  the  policy 
of  the  university  in  regard  to  elevating  our  national 
life;  he  promoted  all  elements  of  education  that 
could  contribute  to  these  ends,  according  to  the  na 
ture  of  each  individual  student.  He  regarded  even 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         265 

philosophy,  aesthetics,  and  receptive  and  sympathetic 
spirituality  not  as  ends,  but  as  means  to  the  devel 
opment  of  character.  In  short,  he  would  have  a 
society  composed  of  men  and  women  of  sound  bodies 
and  thorough  culture,  having  intellectual  energy 
and  public  spirit,  and  following  a  high  standard  of 
character  and  manners.  He  himself  was  what  he 
once  described  as  a  "  patron  of  the  highest  and  best 
utilitarianism." 

The  same  temperament  that  fitted  him  so  marvel 
lously  for  his  chosen  work  placed  him  in  opposition 
to  nearly  every  characteristic  movement  of  nineteenth 
century  civilization.  He  was  not  affected  by  any  one 
of  the  great  forces,  social  philanthropy,  natural 
science,  or  religion.  In  fact,  the  various  reformatory 
measures  growing  out  of  them  were  to  him  irritating 
topics  to  be  avoided;  only  now  and  then  would  he 
cast  at  reforms  a  bit  of  his  humorous  exaggeration 
or  run  them  through  with  a  thrust  of  his  keen 
invective. 

1.  Democratic  philanthropies  could  hardly  appeal 
to  such  a  man  as  Parkman.  A  heroic  man  of  martial 
temper,  he  was  naturally  a  hero-worshipper ;  and  his 
enthusiasm  for  the  study  of  character  carried  him 
in  the  same  direction.  Yet  being  more  critical  than 
laudatory,  more  acutely  accurate  than  broadly  affec 
tionate,  his  interest  in  great  men  did  not  include 
much  personal  fondness  and  admiration.  They  were 
forces  in  history  rather  than  objects  of  partisan 
devotion. 


266  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

We  are  hardly  surprised  to  find  in  Parkman  strong 
aristocratic  tendencies.  In  this  as  in  many  other 
things  his  nature  was  at  war  with  itself.  An 
elevated  character  will  always  hate  what  is  vulgar, 
but,  unquestionably,  a  certain  ancestry  and  environ 
ment  will  predispose  a  man  to  esteem  birth  and 
social  conditions,  even  in  the  most  highly  developed 
democracy,  as  very  influential  powers.  Parkman 
believed  in  blood.  He  would  continue  his  confidence 
in  a  man  of  good  family  even  against  some  serious 
errors  of  conduct;  and  by  the  same  token  he  seldom 
hoped  much  from  a  man  born  of  a  family  of  inferior 
quality.  It  need  not  be  said  that  he  felt  no  reverence 
for  the  arbitrary  distinctions  of  titles ;  his  patent  of 
nobility  was  personal  worth.  Thus  by  tempera 
mental  inclination  as  well  as  by  conviction,  he  came 
to  regard  leaders  of  worth  and  capacity  as  the  regen 
erating  powers  of  civilization. 

The  limitations  of  Parkman's  sympathy  and  in 
sight  had  a  decided  effect  on  his  political  opinions. 
Instinctively  regarding  the  lower  classes  from  a  dis 
tance,  and  practical  to  the  core,  he  perceived,  chiefly, 
the  roughnesses  and  discords  inseparable  from  the 
life  of  average  mankind;  seldom  penetrating  to  the 
inner  spiritual  elements,  the  fundamental  unisons  of 
humanity.  He  seldom  expressed  sentiments  of  pity 
and  tenderness  either  for  himself  or  for  humanity 
at  large.  He  deplored  the  modern  tendency  to  dis 
cover  "objects  of  sympathy  in  vagabonds,  thieves, 
and  ruffians."  Thus,  partly  from  a  martial  manli- 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         267 

ness  that  hated  every  defect  of  body  and  mind, 
partly  from  inborn  aristocratic  tendencies,  and  partly 
from  an  aversion  to  philanthropic  sentimentality,  he 
was  temperamentally  unsympathetic  with  the  lower 
ranks  of  men.  On  his  vacation  trip  of  1842  about 
Lake  George,  he  could  write  in  his  diary  such  a 
passage  as  this: 

"There  could  be  no  finer  place  for  gentlemen's  seats 
than  this,  but  now,  for  the  most  part,  it  is  occupied  by  a 
race  of  boors  about  as  uncouth,  mean,  and  stupid  as  the 
hogs  they  seem  chiefly  to  delight  in." 

And  even  in  his  full  maturity  in  1878  he  called  the 
working  classes  "the  barbarians  of  civilization."  l 

Yet  a  careful  view  shows  these  hard  utterances 
to  be  misleading  exaggerations  in  regard  to  his  faith 
in  humanity  taken  as  a  whole.  He  distrusted  the 
wealthy  quite  as  much  as  the  mired  masses.  Wit 
ness  the  following: 

"  Two  enemies,  unknown  before,  have  risen  like  spirits 
of  darkness  on  our  social  and  political  horizon  —  an 
ignorant  proletariat  and  a  half-taught  plutocracy.  Be 
tween  lie  the  classes,  happily  still  numerous  and  strong, 
in  whom  rests  our  salvation.  ...  In  the  platitudes  of 
democratic  society  two  counter-influences  are  apparent  — • 
the  one  a  curse,  and  the  other  a  blessing :  First  tbose 
sudden  upheavals  of  accumulated  wealth  which  break 
with  sinister  portent  that  broad  distribution  of  property 
which  once  formed  our  safety;  and,  secondly,  this  recent 
reinforcement  of  trained  intelligence.  Each  confronts 
1  Article  on  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage,  p.  4. 


268  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  other;  for  culture  is  no  friend  of  vulgar  wealth,  and 
most  of  the  mountains  of  gold  and  silver  we  have  lately 
seen  are  in  the  keeping  of  those  who  are  very  ill  fitted  to 
turn  them  to  the  profit  of  civilization."  1 

The  civil  war  struck  fire  from  his  martial  spirit  in 
many  ways;  and  the  heroism  of  the  people  often  won 
from  him  expressions  of  admiration  such  as  this: 
"Degenerate  as  our  public  men  may  be,  the  people 
at  large  of  our  time  do  not  lose  in  comparison  with 
their  fathers."2  He  believed  in  human  goodness  as 
the  power  to  work  out  the  regeneration  of  civiliza 
tion;  and  in  trusting  to  this  rather  than  to  the  re 
mote  powers  of  the  Unknown,  he  only  followed  his 
strong  common-sense.  But,  going  still  farther  away 
from  the  visionary,  he  insisted  that  to  be  effective 
human  goodness  must  be  embodied  in  individual 
leaders  of  ability  and  worth.  Under  such  leaders  his 
faith  in  humanity  was  unbounded. 

It  is  evident  that  Parkman  must  have  regarded 
with  profound  aversion  the  so-called  democratic  prin 
ciple  of  equality.  He  wrote  of  it : 

"  Vague  and  half  unconsciously,  but  every  day  more 
and  more,  the  masses  hug  the  flattering  illusion  that  one 
man  is  essentially  about  as  good  as  another.  They  will 
not  deny  that  there  is  great  difference  in  the  quality  of 
horses  or  dogs,  hut  they  refuse  to  see  it  in  their  own 
genus.  A  jockey  may  be  a  democrat  in  the  street,  but  he 
is  sure  to  be  an  aristocrat  in  the  stable.  And  yet  the 

1  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage,  pp.  4,  17. 

2  The  Atlantic,  January,  1868,  p.  128. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS        269 

essential  difference  between  man  and  man  is  incompar 
ably  greater  than  that  between  horse  and  horse,  or  dog 
and  dog;  though,  being  chiefly  below  the  surface,  the 
general  eye  can  hardly  see  it.  Mountains  and  molehills, 
deserts  and  fertile  valleys,  and  all  the  universal  inequal 
ity  of  Nature,  are  but  types  of  inequality  in  men.  To 
level  the  outward  world  would  turn  it  into  barrenness, 
and  to  level  human  minds  to  one  stature  would  make 
them  barren  as  well.  The  history  of  the  progress  of  man 
kind  is  the  history  of  its  leading  minds.  The  masses, 
left  to  themselves,  are  hardly  capable  of  progress,  except 
material  progress,  and  even  that  imperfectly.  Through 
the  long  course  of  history,  a  few  men,  to  be  counted  by 
scores  or  by  tens,  have  planted  in  the  world  the  germs  of 
a  growth,  whose  beneficent  vitality  has  extended  itself 
through  all  succeeding  ages;  and  any  one  of  these  men 
outweighs  in  value  to  mankind  myriads  of  nobles,  citizens, 
and  peasants,  who  have  fought  or  toiled  in  their  genera 
tion,  and  then  rotted  into  oblivion."  1  He  pictured  us  as 
a  nation  subject  to  the  "  tyrant  of  organized  ignorance, 
led  by  unscrupulous  craft,  and  marching,  amid  the  ap 
plause  of  fools,  under  the  flag  of  equal  rights."  2 

Such  a  picture  from  the  pen  of  an  American 
patriot  is  startling;  but  although  characteristic  of 
Parkman's  independence  of  mind  and  vigor  of  speech, 
it  would  not  be  fair  to  take  it  by  itself  as  embodying 
his  political  faith.  His  an ti- democratic  tendencies 
were  more  than  matched  by  an  ardent  love  of  free 
dom  and  fairness.  He  strenuously  demanded:  "A 
society  where  liberty  is  complete,  and  where  all  men 

1  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage,  p.  5.  2  Ibid.,  p.  2. 


270  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAST 

have  equal  opportunities  of  development,  according 
to  their  several  qualities."1  This  demand  was  not 
incompatible  with  a  distrust  of  modern  democratic 
methods,  and  Parkman  had  his  own  ideas  as  to  the 
best  means  of  reaching  development  and  freedom. 
He  said  again: 

11  Shall  we  look  for  an  ideal  society  in  that  which  tends 
to  a  barren  average  and  a  weary  uniformity,  treats  men 
like  cattle,  counts  them  by  the  head,  and  gives  them  a 
vote  apiece  without  asking  whether  or  not  they  have  the 
sense  to  use  it;  or  in  that  which  recognizes  the  inherent 
differences  between  man  and  man,  and  gives  the  prepon 
derance  to  power,  to  character  and  intelligence,  yet  re 
moves  artificial  barriers,  keeps  circulation  free  through 
all  its  parts,  and  rewards  merit  wherever  it  appears  with 
added  influence  ?  "  2 

In  all  sociological  matters  he  was  oddly  divided 
against  himself.  While  his  manner  was  entirely 
without  hauteur,  he  needed  every  whit  of  the  common 
sense,  kindliness,  and  human  interest  that  were  his, 
to  restrain  a  contempt  for  inferiority  of  all  sorts.  He 
was  a  "good  fellow  "  with  any  man  of  any  rank  whose 
character  commanded  his  respect;  or  even,  for  the 
sake  of  studying  life  and  character,  with  many  whom 
he  did  not  approve.  But,  democratic  in  personal 
relations,  he  was  an  undoubted  aristocrat  in  politics 
and  in  his  intellectual  relations  to  humanity.  He 
believed  in  equality  of  opportunity,  but  not  in  equality 
of  power  to  rule. 

1  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage,  p.  2.  2  Ibid.,  p.  6. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS         271 

Despite  certain  idealistic  tendencies,  he  hated 
abstractions,  theories,  and  sentiments  in  matters  of 
government.  He  said:  "Iroquois  legislation  in 
vented  nothing ;  like  all  sound  legislation,  it  built  of 
materials  already  prepared."  l  And  again: 

"  There  are  no  political  panaceas,  except  in  the  imagi 
nation  of  political  quacks.  To  each  degree  and  each 
variety  of  public  development  there  are  corresponding 
institutions  best  answering  to  the  public  needs;  and 
what  is  meat  to  one  is  poison  to  another.  Freedom  is  for 
those  who  are  fit  for  it.  The  rest  will  lose  it  or  turn  it 
to  corruption."  2 

This  passage  shows  a  distrust  of  all  forms  of  gov 
ernment  viewed  as  essential  means  to  national  salva 
tion.  A  republic  was  to  Parkman  not  necessarily 
the  summit  of  political  wisdom.  But  if  he  distrusted 
democracy  he  still  more  distrusted  oligarchy,  auto 
cracy,  and  aristocracy. 

His  political  activities  were  limited  by  his  disabili 
ties  to  the  writing  of  a  few  articles  for  the  press. 
We  find  his  work  more  critical  than  constructive; 
treating  of  broad  national  needs,  never  concerning 
itself  with  party  politics.  For  all  this,  he  was,  during 
the  civil  war,  an  ardent  Union  republican;  and,  until 
he  became  a  "mugwump,"  always  voted  the  republi 
can  ticket  when  able  to  go  to  the  polls.  He  was  a 

1  Manners  and  Customs  of  Primitive  Indian  Tribes.  —  North  Amer* 
ican  Review,  July,  1865. 
2  Old  Regime,  p.  446. 


272  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

regular  reader  of  the  New  York  "Nation,"  believing 
its  severe  criticism  of  our  evils  a  salutary  tonic. 

We  cannot  but  look  upon  this  stern,  strenuous 
figure  as  a  prophet  calling  for  political  righteousness, 
and  proclaiming  the  dangers  that  have  grown  up 
under  the  shelter  of  our  free  institutions.  He  dis 
trusted  the  very  corner-stone  of  democracy: 

"That  the  ignorant,  incompetent  and  vicious  of  any 
color  or  either  sex  should  vote,  I  regard  as  a  peril  to  civ 
ilization,  and  an  injury  to  the.  entire  community,  them 
selves  included.  Promiscuous  suffrage  is  the  deepest 
source  of  our  present  political  evils.'71 

He  protested  against  the  ballot  being  "an  educa 
tion  in  itself,  capable  of  making  good  citizens  out  of 
the  poorest  material;"2  and  maintained  that  the  un 
restricted  franchise  —  a  safeguard  in  the  hands  of  a 
limited  population  of  patriots  such  as  we  had  in  colo 
nial  times — had  become  a  peril  in  the  hands  of  a 
mixed  population  under  the  domination  of  dema 
gogues  and  material  interests.  He  said: 

"When  a  majority  of  the  people  become  convinced  that 
no  aggregate  of  folly  can  produce  sense,  and  no  aggregate 
of  worthlessness  can  produce  honesty,  and  when  they  re 
turn  to  the  ancient  faith  that  sense  and  honesty  are  essen 
tial  to  good  government,  then  it  will  become  possible  — 
not,  perhaps,  peaceably  to  abolish  a  debased  suffrage  — 
but  to  counteract  and  so  far  neutralize  it  that  it 
serve  as  a  safety-valve  and  cease  to  be  a  danger.7' 

1  Letter  to  Col.  T.  W.  Higginson,  June  5,  1876. 

2  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage,  p-  9. 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         273 

His  paper  on  "  The  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage  " 
deserves  the  attention  it  received  both  at  home  and 
abroad,  for  its  earnest  consideration  of  the  gravest 
topics.  Woman-suffrage  naturally  fell  under  his  dis 
approval  as  a  part  of  "promiscuous  "  suffrage,  and  for 
other  reasons  which  we  shall  consider  later. 

The  lowest  deep  of  Parkman's  hatred  was  reserved 
for  selfish  politicians.  By  as,  much  as  he  considered 
statesmanship  the  highest  calling,  so  did  he  despise 
the  demagogue  as  a  "political  reptile."  There  was 
nothing  in  our  national  life  that  he  feared  to  the 
same  degree.  Boundless  perils  were  held  in  store  for 
us  by  "the  machine  "  and  the  demagogue's  control  of 
an  ignorant  proletariat.  His  words  on  the  subject 
are  swords  of  flame: 

"Never,  since  history  recorded  the  life  of  nations,  was 
such  a  people  so  led,  or  rather  so  entangled  in  such  a 
political  mesh-work.  We  make  no  allusion  to  this  party 
or  that.  Men  and  parties  will  change,  but  the  same 
bad  system  rules  rampant  over  all.  Still  the  same  wither 
ing  machinery  of  caucuses  and  conventions,  the  same  com 
binations,  wheel  within  wheel,  of  adroit  and  selfish 
managers,  the  organized  scramble  of  mean  men  for  petty 
spoils,  clogging  the  avenues  and  outlets  of  public  opinion, 
jealously  vigilant  of  the  rostrum  and  the  press,  and  limit 
ing  the  votes  of  an  acquiescent  people  to  such  candidates 
as  may  suit,  not  the  national  interests,  but  their  own. 
As  freemen  and  sovereigns  we  go  to  the  polls  and  cast  our 
votes,  not  after  our  own  judgment,  but  at  the  dictation  of 
self-constituted  knots  and  combinations  of  men  whom  we 
can  neither  esteem  nor  trust.  If  we  did  otherwise  our 

18 


274  A  LIFE  OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

vote  would  be  thrown  away.  A  many-headed  despotism 
is  exercised  in  the  name  of  the  largest  liberty.  If  to 
degrade  public  morals,  sink  the  national  reputation, 
weaken  the  national  counsels,  rout  out  the  race  of  states 
men,  and  place  pliant  incompetency  in  control  of  our 
destiny,  —  if  those  are  the  ends  of  government,  then  is 
our  political  management  a  masterpiece  of  human  wit."  * 

Parkman's  want  of  confidence  in  the  masses  seems 
to  have  been  aroused  by  this  obedience  of  theirs  to 
demagogues,  more  than  from  any  essential  lack  of 
respect  for  humanity.  He  had  full  faith  in  the  feel 
ing  of  the  people,  though  not  in  their  judgment. 
He  wrote  thus  of  them: 

"  We  are  told  to  look  at  the  great  popular  uprising  of 
the  civil  war.  Here,  indeed,  democracy  revealed  itself 
in  its  grandest  aspect.  The  degrading  elements  had  not 
then  reached  the  volume  and  force  that  they  have  reached 
to-day.  There  were  no  doubts  and  no  complications. 
Victory  meant  national  integrity,  and  defeat  meant 
national  disintegration.  Above  all,  the  cause  had  its 
visible  emblem  —  the  national  flag;  and  thousands  and 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  eyes  were  turned  upon  it  in 
loving  and  ardent  devotion.  We  heard  a  great  deal  at 
that  time  about  *  thinking  bayonets/  The  bayonets  did 
not  think,  nor  did  those  who  carried  them.  They  did 
what  was  more  to  the  purpose  —  they  felt.  The  emer 
gency  did  not  call  for  thought,  but  for  faith  and  courage, 
and  both  were  there  in  abundance.  The  political  reptiles 
hid  away,  or  pretended  to  change  their  nature,  and  for  a 
time  the  malarious  air  was  purged  as  by  a  thunder-storm. 

1  Letter  to  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser,  July,  1863. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         275 

Peace  brought  a  change.  Questions  intricate  and  diffi 
cult,  demanding  brains  more  than  hearts,  and  discretion 
more  than  valor,  took  the  place  of  the  simple  alternative, 
to  be  or  not  to  be.  The  lion  had  had  his  turn,  and  now 
the  fox,  the  jackal,  and  the  wolf,  took  theirs.  Every  sly 
political  trickster,  whom  the  storm  had  awed  into  obscur 
ity,  now  found  his  opportunity.  The  reptiles  crawled  out 
again,  multiplied,  and  infested  caucuses,  conventions,  and 
Congress.  But  the  people  were  the  saddest  spectacles; 
the  same  people  that  had  shown  itself  so  heroic  in  the 
hour  of  military  trial,  were  now  perplexed,  bewildered, 
tossed  between  sense  and  folly,  right  and  wrong,  taking 
advice  of  mountebanks,  and  swallowing  their  filthy  nos 
trums.  The  head  of  Demos  was  as  giddy  as  his  heart  had 
been  strong."  l 

Parkman  felt  that  the  corruption  of  our  political 
life  presented  another  danger  of  the  greatest  magni 
tude,  and  that  it  must  be  energetically  opposed  by 
civil  service  reform. 

" There  is  no  hope,"  he  said,  "but  in  purging  and 
strengthening  the  republic.  The  remedy  must  be  slow, 
not  rash  and  revolutionary.  A  debased  and  irresponsible 
suffrage  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  evil,  but  the  state  is  sick 
of  diseases  that  do  not  directly  and  immediately  spring 
from  this  source.  Something  is  due  to  the  detestable 
maxim  that  to  the  victor  belongs  the  spoils,  and  the 
fatuity  that  makes  office  the  reward  of  party  service,  de 
mands  incessant  rotation,  dismisses  the  servant  of  the 
public  as  soon  as  he  has  learned  to  serve  well,  prefers 

J  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage,  p.  10. 


276  A  LIFE  OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  interests  of  a  needy  politician  to  the  interests  of  the 
whole  people,  sets  a  premium  on  trickery  and  discourages 
faithful  industry.  When  the  scraps  and  marrow-hones  of 
office  are  flung  down  to  he  scrambled  for,  the  dogs  are  sure 
to  get  the  lion's  share."  1 

But  the  immediate  evil  of  vitally  injuring  the  public 
service  is  small  as  compared  with  the  general  moral 
and  intellectual  ruin  it  causes.  In  this  regard  he  was 
concerned  not  only  for  the  national  conscience  and 
standard  of  duty,  but  especially  for  the  higher  edu 
cation  and  development  of  character  in  the  cultured 
class.  He  said: 

"While  the  faculties  that  win  material  success  are 
spurred  to  the  utmost,  and  urged  to  their  strongest 
development,  those  that  find  their  exercise  in  the  higher 
fields  of  thought  and  action  are  far  from  heing  so.  For 
minds  that  mere  wealth  and  mere  notoriety  cannot  satisfy, 
the  inducements  are  weak  and  the  difficulties  great.  The 
slow  hut  ominous  transfer  of  power  from  superior  to 
inferior  types  of  men,  as  shown  in  city  councils,  legisla 
tures,  and  Congress,  has  told  with  withering  effect  on  the 
growth  of  true  political  ability.  Debased  as  our  politics 
are,  they  do  not  invite,  and  hardly  even  admit,  the  higher 
and  stronger  faculties  to  a  part  in  them.  Liberal  educa 
tion  is  robbed  of  its  best  continuance  and  consummation, 
and  in  so  far  as  it  is  shut  out  from  that  noblest  field  of 
human  effort,  the  direction  of  affairs  of  state."  2 

His  deep  sense  of  civic  duty  made  him  call  on  young 
men  of  worth  and  culture  to  undertake  our  political 
regeneration : 

1  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage,  p.  12.  2  Ibid.,  p.  17. 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         277 

"Here,  then,  is  a  career  worthy  of  the  best,  for  none  | 
but  they  can  grapple  with  the  complicated  mischiefs  of 
our  politics.  Those  gallant  youths,  and  others  such  as 
they,  who  were  so  ready  to  lay  down  life  for  their  coun 
try,  may  here  find  a  strife  more  difficult  and  not  less 
honorable.  If  there  is  virtue  in  them  for  an  effort  so 
arduous,  then  it  is  folly  to  despair.  If  a  depraved  politi 
cal  system  sets  them  aside  in  favor  of  meaner  men,  and 
denies  them  the  career  to  which  the  best  interests  of  the 
nation  calls  them,  then,  let  them  attack  this  depraved 
system,  and,  in  so  doing,  make  a  career  of  their  own. 
The  low  politician  is  not  a  noble  foe,  but  he  is  strong  and 
dangerous  enough  to  make  it  manly  to  fight  him  ;  and  the 
cause  of  his  adversary  is  the  cause  of  the  people,  did  they 
but  know  it  ;  or  at  least  of  that  part  of  the  people  that  is 
worth  the  name.  No  doubt,  the  strife  is  strangely  un 
equal  ;  for  on  one  side  are  ranged  all  the  forces  of  self- 
interest,  always  present  and  always  active  ;  and  on  the 
other  only  duty  and  patriotism.  But  if  the  virtue  and 
reason  of  the  nation  can  be  as  well  organized  as  its  folly 
and  knavery  are  organized  to-day,  a  new  hope  will  rise 
upon  us,  and  they  who  can  achieve  such  a  result  will  not 
lack  their  reward."  l  ^^-J 

Patriots,  then,  were  the  men  for  whom  Parkman 
had  the  greatest  admiration,  and  Washington  stood 
at  their  head.  This  grand  figure  should  be  the  beau- 
ideal  of  American  youth;  and  in  his  estimation  one 
of  the  worst  results  of  the  Rebellion  was  the  relative 
obscurity  into  which  it  had  cast  Washington  by  exalt 
ing  others  of  less  worth.  Hamilton  came  second 

1  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage,  p.  19. 


278  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

only  to  Washington.  Franklin  was  "a  great  man," 
and  admirable  in  many  ways,  but  too  thrifty  and 
materialistic.  Jefferson  he  disliked  exceedingly  for 
his  sentimental  following  of  the  French  democracy; 
Jean- Jacques  Rousseau  was  "a  depraved  and  half 
crazy  man  of  genius."  He  came  at  last  to  admire 
Lincoln,  though  thinking  him  generally  over-rated, 
—  a  man  whose  undeniable  worth  and  usefulness 
were  due  to  circumstances  more  than  to  inherent 
ability.  Sumner  he  considered  as  not  only  senti 
mental,  but  deficient  in  courage  and  manliness: 
Garrison  and  Phillips  also  won  little  admiration 
from  him. 

Parkman's  political  ambition  for  the  nation  em 
bodied  his  broadest  and  highest  aspirations.  As 
might  be  expected  from  his  practical  and  simple  way 
of  taking  all  questions,  his  creed  was  short  and 
simple : 

11  My  political  faith,"  he  wrote,  "lies  between  two 
vicious  extremes,  democracy  and  absolute  authority,  each 
of  which  I  detest  the  more  because  it  tends  to  reach  into 
the  other.  I  do  not  object  to  a  good  constitutional  mon 
archy,  but  prefer  a  conservative  republic,  where  intelli 
gence  and  character,  and  not  numbers  hold  the  reins  of 
power." 

And  again: 

"  Our  safety  is  in  the  development  and  use  of  the  states 
manship  latent  among  us,  and  long  kept  latent  by  the 

1  Letter  to  Abbe  H.  R.  Casgrain,  May  9,  1875. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS         279 

perverted  action  of  our  political  machinery.  .  .  .  'Let 
the  best  rule  '  is  the  maxim  of  aristocracy  ;  '  let  the  best 
serve '  is  the  maxim  of  the  only  healthful  and  permanent 
democracy.  Who  are  the  best  ?  They  are  gone  j  their 
race  has  died  out.  Surely  as  effect  follows  cause,  for  a  half 
century  they  have  withered  and  dwindled  away.  The 
race,  we  mean  of  legislators  and  statesmen,  minds  trained 
to  apply  great  principles  to  practice,  to  grapple  with  great 
affairs,  to  guide  the  nation  with  a  wise  and  temperate 
vigor  along  the  giddy  heights  of  that  grand  destiny  which 
awaited  her,  and  perhaps  awaited  her  in  vain.  When 
will  such  men  return  ?  When  a  deep  and  abiding  sense 
of  our  deep  need  of  them  has  seized  and  possessed  the 
national  heart,  when  the  fallacies  that  have  deluded  us  so 
long  shall  be  thrown  from  us  as  debasing  and  perilous 
illusions,  and  the  national  mind  rises  to  a  true  conception 
of  republican  freedom."  * 

The  saviours  of  civilization  were  thus  to  be  leaders 
of  ability  and  worth,  men  who  could  direct  the  masses 
with  wisdom,  successfully  oppose  both  selfish  dema 
gogues  and  selfish  capitalists,  serve  the  nation  as 
civic  officials,  warriors,  and  statesmen,  and  raise  the 
national  ambition  above  mere  material  interests.  He 
manifestly  sketched  his  ideal  of  healthy  national 
growth  in  thus  speaking  of  England: 

"  Through  centuries  of  striving  she  had  advanced  from 
stage  to  stage  of  progress,  deliberate  and  calm,  never 
breaking  with  her  past,  but  making  each  fresh  gain  the 
base  of  a  new  success,  enlarging  popular  liberties  while 

1  Article  in  Boston  Daily  Advertiser,  July,  1863. 


280  A   LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

bating  nothing  of  that  height  and  force  of  individual  de 
velopment  which  is  the  brain  and  heart  of  civilization."  1 

In  1862  he  wrote  this  wise  counsel  for  our  own  guid 
ance,  counsel  that  recent  events  and  the  passage  of 
years  only  makes  more  valuable: 

"  If  the  people  will  learn  that  no  expansion  of  territory, 
no  accumulation  of  wealth,  no  growth  of  population,  can 
compensate  for  the  decline  of  individual  greatness,  if  they 
can  learn  to  recognize  the  reality  of  superior  minds,  and 
to  feel  that  they  have  need  of  them ;  to  feel,  too,  that  in 
rejecting  and  ignoring  them  they  prepare  the  sure  though 
gradual  ruin  of  popular  government,  —  that  beneficent 
lesson  would  be  cheaply  bought  by  years  of  calamity  and 


Again  at  the  close  of  his  life  and  labors  he  sounded 
the  same  manly  challenge,  raised  the  same  standard 
by  which  we  shall  be  judged  in  the  procession  of 
races : 

"She  [the  United  States]  has  tamed  the  savage  conti 
nent,  peopled  the  solitude,  gathered  wealth  untold,  waxed 
potent,  imposing,  redoubtable;  and  now  it  remains  for 
her  to  prove,  if  she  can,  that  the  rule  of  the  masses  is 
consistent  with  the  highest  growth  of  the  individual;  that 
democracy  can  give  the  world  a  civilization  as  mature  and 
pregnant,  ideas  as  energetic  and  vitalizing,  and  types  of 
manhood  as  lofty  and  strong,  as  any  of  the  systems  which 
it  boasts  to  supplant."  2 

1  The  Old  Regime,  p.  451. 

2  Montcalm  and  Wolfe,  vol.  ii.  p.  414. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         281 

2.  Parkman,  though  much  more  friendly  towards 
science  than  towards  socialism,  was  even  here  not 
entirely  in  harmony  with  his  times.  We  have  seen 
that  he  favored  the  fullest  development  of  this  side 
of  education,  and  that  he  enjoyed  an  observer's  prac 
tical  knowledge  of  those  sciences  which  brought  him 
into  contact  with  nature.  No  doubt  he  would  have 
gained  a  broader  general  knowledge  of  the  subject 
had  his  culture  not  been  so  restricted  by  considera 
tions  of  health.  But  in  truth  he  cared  more  for 
exact  knowledge  and  tangible  things  than  for  specu 
lations  as  to  the  origin  of  things.  Evolution,  and 
the  philosophical  investigation  that  has  influenced  so 
profoundly  the  course  of  modern  life,  had  but  little 
interest  for  him.  In  all  phases  of  citizenship  he  was 
still  true  to  his  character  of  historian,  and  viewed 
scientific  thought  as  he  did  other  things,  as  one  of 
the  forces  affecting  civilization.  Here  came  in  his 
idealism,  qualifying  his  admiration  of  science  with 
disapproval  of  many  of  her  most  notable  achievements 
and  most  potent  influences.  He  did  not  look  to  it 
alone  for  the  regeneration  of  mankind. 

He  regarded  the  predominance  of  material  interests 
in  our  national  life  as  still  another  danger  of  great 
moment.  Writing  of  our  condition  at  the  beginning 
of  the  Rebellion,  he  said : 

"  Luxury  and  commerce  have  sometimes  emasculated  a 
people  naturally  warlike.  Tke  former  has  injured  us  only 
partially,  but  the  spirit  of  trade,  in  the  excess  of  its  pre 
dominance,  has  done  us  a  widespread  and  deadly  mis- 


282  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

chief.  The  morality  of  commerce  has  become  confounded 
with  universal  morality,  and  the  word  '  honor/  to  the 
minds  of  half  of  those  who  use  it,  means  little  but  com 
mercial  honor.  The  pride  of  a  good  bargain  has  overborne 
the  pride  of  manhood,  and  much  that  is  vital  to  worth  and 
nobleness  is  treated  as  illusory.  So,  from  highest  to  low 
est,  this  influence  pervades  this  vigorous  and  practical 
race,  courageous,  indeed,  as  all  roused  and  energetic 
peoples  are,  but  not  spurred  to  acts  of  courage  by  the  same 
exacting  and  unanswerable  demands  which  urge,  on  the 
one  hand,  ruder  nations,  and  on  the  other,  nations  of  a 
more  balanced  and  normal  civilization."  1 

He  saw  that  "  the  intellectual  growth  of  the  coun 
try  bears  no  proportion  to  its  material  progress."  To 
give  this  idea  a  tangible  illustration,  we  may  quote 
the  following  passage  written  in  1875: 

"  That  the  present  condition  and  prospects  of  American 
literature  are  not  very  flattering  will  hardly  be  denied. 
A  score  or  more  of  years  ago  there  seemed  a  fair  hope  that 
the  intellectual  development  of  the  country  would  not  be 
absolutely  disproportioned  to  its  material  growth  ;  but 
thus  far  the  hope  has  not  been  fulfilled,  and,  relatively  to 
our  vast  increase  in  wealth  and  population,  the  value, 
though  not  the  volume  of  literary  products  is  less  than 
before.  This  proceeds,  naturally  enough,  from  several 
causes.  The  excitement  of  the  war  and  the  inflation  of 
the  currency,  with  the  morbid  stimulus  it  applied  to 
trade  and  industry,  were  no  doubt  strong  anti-literary 
influences  ;  but  a  violent  impulse  had  been  given  long 
before  to  all  kinds  of  material  activity  by  the  discovery  of 
l  Letter  to  Boston  Daily  Advertiser,  June,  1863. 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS         283 

gold  in  California.  Here,  more  than  anywhere  else,  be 
gan  that  frenzy  of  speculation  and  that  race  for  wealth 
which  have  created  an  atmosphere  where  the  scholar  and 
the  thinker  find  it  hard  to  breathe." 1 

In  his  diaries  we  read  his  regrets  that  the  "  Yankee 
spirit  of  improvement,"  in  clearing  the  land  of  forest, 
should  be  "  destroying  the  chief  ornament  of  the  coun 
try."  This  feeling  led  him  almost  to  regret  the 
spread  of  civilization  over  the  continent,  resulting  in 
the  extermination  of  the  buffalo,  the  taming  of  the 
Indian,  and  the  building  of  railroads.  This  Spartan 
sufferer  had  no  weakness  for  luxuries;  he  liked 
simple,  even  primitive  modes  of  life;  preferring  the 
saddle  or  canoe  to  the  stage  coach,  and  the  latter  to 
railway  or  steamboat.  For  all  this,  he  was  actually 
indifferent  rather  than  antagonistic  to  modern  im 
provements,  accepting  them  as  conveniences,  without 
giving  them  any  thought  or  admiration. 

The  material  productions  of  science,  however, 
roused  a  deeper  feeling  when  viewed  in  their  effects 
on  our  national  life. 

"Nor  am  I  at  all  enthusiastic  for  the  nineteenth  cen 
tury,  many  of  the  tendencies  of  which  I  deplore,  while 
admiring  much  that  it  has  accomplished.  It  is  too  demo 
cratic  and  too  much  given  to  the  pursuit  of  material  inter 
ests  at  the  expense  of  intellectual  and  moral  greatness 
which  I  hold  to  be  the  true  [aim  or  end]  and  to  which 
material  progress  should  be  but  a  means. "  2  He  depre- 

1  Review  of  Bancroft's   Native  Races  of  the  Pacific   States,  in 
North  American  Review,  January,  1875,  p.  34. 

2  Letter  to  Abbe'  H.  R.  Casgrain,  May  9, 1875. 


284  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

cated  our  "  overstrained  and  morbid  activity,  and  incessant 
tension  of  nerves  —  the  men  in  the  struggles  of  active 
life,  the  women  in  the  ambitions,  anxieties,  and  worries 
of  social  existence." 

He  could  not  abide  the  acceptance  of  material  pros 
perity  as  proof  of  our  national  greatness,  and  no  one 
irritated  him  more  than  the  man  who  regards  them 
as  the  summum  lonum  of  progress.  A  highly  civil 
ized  man,  he  disliked  the  over-refinements  and  com 
plexities  of  civilization.  On  the  other  hand,  while 
he  loved  the  wilderness  and  its  adventures,  and  pos 
sessed  the  hardihood  and  courage  of  a  Boone,  he 
never  would  have  led  the  life  of  an  Indian,  nor 
become  even  a  frontiersman.  Wealth,  especially 
when  concentrated  in  the  hands  of  men  deficient  in 
culture  and  public  spirit,  inspired  him  with  a  certain 
suspicion.  He  condemned  our  popular  admiration 
for  the  "self-made  man"  and  the  "practical  man," 
had  the  keenest  scent  for  vulgarity,  crudeness,  pre 
tentiousness,  exaggeration,  and  spread-eagleism,  and 
the  sharpest  tongue  to  denounce  them,  attributing 
them  to  the  ignorance  and  complacency  born  of  undue 
material  prosperity. 

3.  Of  Parkman's  religious  opinions  and  feelings, 
to  be  dwelt  on  in  a  later  chapter,  it  is  sufficient  to 
say  here  that  his  antagonism  to  all  theological  organ 
izations  and  sectarian  aims  necessarily  limited  his 
influence  on  the  public  life  of  his  generation.  He 
had  no  interest  whatever  in  the  religious  movements 
of  his  time,  except  a  fear  of  the  growing  power  of  the 


PARKMAN   AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         285 

Roman  Catholic  Church,  and  of  the  proposed  "  peace 
ful  conquest  of  New  England  "  by  the  French  Cana 
dians  under  the  leadership  of  priests. 

On  other  questions  of  the  day,  it  is  interesting  to 
note  his  clean-cut  expressions  of  independent  opinion. 
The  latest  extreme  form  of  the  so-called  temperance 
movement  he  condemned  as  the  "  corrupting  farce  of 
a  prohibition  which  does  not  prohibit,  which  in  large 
communities  does  not  prevent  or  even  diminish 
drunkenness,  but  which  is  the  fruitful  parent  of  mean 
ness,  fraud,  lying,  and  contempt  of  law." 

His  love  for  the  wilderness  and  for  certain  types  of 
wild  men  had  no  force  in  relation  to  the  Indian 
question.  He  never  approved  of  Penn's  peace 
policy. 

"In  fact,  the  benevolent  and  philanthropic  view  of  the 
American  savage  is  for  those  who  are  beyond  his  reach. 
It  has  never  yet  been  held  by  any  whose  wives  and  chil 
dren  have  lived  in  danger  of  his  scalping-knife."  l 

The  effort  to  educate  Indians  seemed  to  him  to  spoil 
them  as  wild  men,  at  the  same  time  failing  to  civilize 
them.  The  following  passage  is  very  characteristic 
of  his  love  of  justice  and  firmness  in  all  the  relations 
of  life  that  were  open  to  his  vision : 

"  A  word  touching  our  recent  Indian  policy.  To  sup 
pose  tbat  presents,  blandishments,  kind  treatment,  even 
when  not  counteracted  by  fraud  and  lawlessness  of  white 

1  Half  Century,  vol.  i.  p.  215. 


286  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

men,  can  restrain  these  banditti  [the  Apaches,  Comanches, 
and  other  tribes  of  Arizona  and  New  Mexico]  from  molest 
ing  travellers  and  settlers,  is  a  mistake.  Robbery  and 
murder  have  become  to  them  a  second  nature,  and,  as  just 
stated,  a  means  of  living.  The  chief  enemies  of  peace  in 
the  Indian  country  are  the  philanthropist,  the  politician, 
and  the  border-ruffian  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  combination  of 
soft  words  with  rascality  and  violence.  An  Apache,  a 
Comanche,  or  an  Arapaho  neither  respects  nor  comprehends 
assurances  of  fraternal  love.  In  most  cases  he  takes  them 
as  an  evidence  of  fear.  The  government  whose  emissaries 
caress  him  and  preach  to  him,  whose  officials  cheat  him, 
and  whose  subjects  murder  him,  is  not  likely  to  soothe 
him  into  the  ways  of  peace.  The  man  best  fitted  to  deal 
with  Indians  of  hostile  dispositions  is  an  honest,  judicious, 
and  determined  soldier.  To  protect  them  from  ruffians 
worse  than  themselves,  strictly  to  observe  every  engage 
ment,  to  avoid  verbiage  and  speak  on  occasion  with  a  de 
cisive  clearness  absolutely  free  from  sentimentality,  to 
leave  no  promise  and  no  threat  unfulfilled,  to  visit  every 
breach  of  peace  with  a  punishment  as  prompt  as  circum 
stances  will  permit,  to  dispense  with  courts  and  juries, 
and  substitute  a  summary  justice,  and  to  keep  speculators 
and  adventurers  from  abusing  them  —  such  means  as 
these  on  the  one  hand,  or  extermination  on  the  other,  will 
alone  keep  such  tribes  as  the  Apaches  quiet.  They  need 
an  officer  equally  just  and  vigorous  ;  and  our  regular  army 
can  furnish  such.  They  need  an  army  more  numerous 
than  we  have  at  present ;  and  its  business  would  be  to 
restrain  white  men  no  less  than  Indians.  They  need  in 
the  executive  a  courage  to  which  democracy  and  the  news 
paper  sensation-monger  are  wofully  adverse.  Firmness, 


FARKMAN   AS   SEEX  IN  HIS  WORKS         287 

consistency,  and  justice  are  indispensable  in  dealing  with 
dangerous  Indians,  and  so  far  as  we  fail  to  supply  them 
we  shall  fail  of  success.  Attempts  at  conciliation  will  be 
worse  than  useless  unless  there  is  proof,  manifest  to  their 
savage  understanding,  that  such  attempts  do  not  proceed 
from  weakness  or  fear."  * 

Feeling,  as  he  did,  that  universal  suffrage  was  a 
mistake,  especially  in  a  large  and  mixed  population, 
he  took  great  interest  in  the  restriction  of  immigra 
tion  in  order  to  save  our  institutions  from  any  further 
strain  by  a  "muddy  tide  of  ignorance  rolled  in 
upon  us." 

The  anti-slavery  question  was  by  no  means  a  burn 
ing  one  with  him,  although  he  recognized  "the 
sound  and  earnest  basis  of  this  agitation."  He  said 
further : 

"Some  half  century  ago,  a  few  devoted  men  began 
what  seemed  a  desperate  crusade  against  a  tremendous 
national  evil.  American  slavery  has  now  passed  into 
history.  It  died  a  death  of  violence,  to  our  shame  be  it 
said;  for  the  nation  had  not  virtue,  temperance,  and  wis 
dom  enough,  to  abolish  it  peacefully  and  harmlessly;  but 
it  is  dead."  2 

The  war,  however,  aroused  his  utmost  sympathy, 
as  shown  by  the  white-heat  of  his  few  contributions 
on  the  subject  to  the  press.  The  Union  was  to  be 
preserved  at  no  matter  what  personal  and  national 

1  Review  of  Bancroft's  Native  Races  of  the  Pacific  States,  in 
North  American  Review,  January,  1875,  p.  43. 

2  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage,  p.  19. 


288  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

cost.  Moreover,  he  regarded  martial  traits  as  the 
most  essential  and  fundamental  virtues  of  a  manly 
personality. 

"  Since  the  world  began,  no  nation  has  ever  risen  to 
a  commanding  eminence  in  the  arts  of  peace,  which  has 
not  at  some  period  of  its  history,  been  redoubtable  in  war. 
And  in  every  well-balanced  development  of  nations,  as  of 
individuals,  the  warlike  instinct  and  the  military  point 
of  honor  are  not  repressed  and  extinguished,  but  only 
refined  and  civilized.  It  belongs  to  the  pedagogue,  not 
to  the  philosopher,  to  declaim  against  them  as  relics  of 
barbarism."  These  instincts,  he  further  insisted,  are 
"  always  strongest  in  the  strongest  and  richest  nature."  l 

Believing  that  the  progress  and  stability  of  civiliza 
tion  depend  on  force,  and  despising  what  he  called 
the  "  milksop  "  principle  of  turning  the  other  cheek 
also,  he  was  yet  the  last  man  to  desire  an  unneces 
sary  or  an  unjust  war. 

The  woman  suffrage  movement  is  the  only  topic 
which  Parkman  treated  in  a  spirit  that  would  seem 
to  require  apology  or  explanation  on  the  part  of  his 
biographer.  This  remark  applies  chiefly  to  the  pam 
phlet  entitled  "  Some  of  the  Reasons  against  Woman 
Suffrage,  printed  at  the  request  of  an  Association  of 
Women."  The  fuller  statement  in  his  article  in  the 
"North  American  Review,"  October,  1879,  is  less 
open  to  criticism.  It  is  quite  unnecessary  to  our 
aim  of  portraiture  to  discuss  his  views,  but  his  argu 
ment  is  of  interest  as  a  revelation  of  his  mental  traits. 

1  Letter  to  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser,  June,  1863. 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN   HIS  WORKS         289 

He  thought  that  by  the  limitations  and  inabilities 
imposed  on  woman  by  sex  and  her  maternal  duties, 

"God  and  nature  had  ordained  that  she  shall  not  he 
forced  to  join  in  the  harsh  conflicts  of  the  world  mili 
tant  ; "  that,  considering  the  poor  health  of  American 
women  it  is  "  cruel  to  add  to  the  excitements  which  are 
wasting  them  other  and  greater  excitements,  and  to 
cares  too  great  for  their  strength  other  and  greater 
cares.  ...  To  hold  the  man  responsible  and  yet  deprive 
him  of  power  is  neither  just  nor  rational,  for  the  man  is 
the  natural  head  of  the  family,  he  is  responsible  for  its 
maintenance  and  order;  hence  he  ought  to  control  the 
social  and  business  agencies  which  are  essential  to  the 
successful  discharge  of  the  trust  imposed  upon  him.  .  .  . 
Woman  suffrage  must  have  one  of  two  effects:  if,  as 
many  of  its  advocates  complain,  women  are  subservient  to 
men,  and  do  nothing  but  what  they  desire,  then  woman 
suffrage  will  have  no  other  result  but  to  increase  the 
power  of  the  other  sex;  if  on  the  other  hand  women  vote 
as  they  see  fit,  without  regarding  their  husbands,  then 
unhappy  marriages  will  be  multiplied  and  divorces  re 
doubled."  The  danger  of  "  inconsiderate  and  rash  legis 
lation  .  .  .  would  be  increased  immeasurably  if  the  most 
impulsive  and  excitable  half  of  humanity  had  an  equal 
voice  in  the  making  of  laws,  and  in  the  administration 
of  them,  —  abstract  right  would  then  be  made  to  prevail 
after  a  fashion  somewhat  startling."  The  better  class  of 
women,  instead  of  controlling  others,  "  will  be  outvoted 
in  their  own  kitchens,  without  reckoning  the  agglomera 
tions  of  poverty,  ignorance,  and  vice,  that  form  a  start 
ling  proportion  of  our  city  populations;  the  female  vote 

19 


290  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

would  enormously  increase  the  evil,  for  it  is  often  more 
numerous,  always  more  impulsive  and  less  subject  to  rea 
son,  and  almost  devoid  of  the  sense  of  responsibility.  Here 
the  bad  politician  would  find  his  richest  resources.  .  .  . 
It  is  not  woman's  virtues  that  would  be  prominent  or 
influential  in  the  political  arena;  they  would  shun  it  by 
an  invincible  repulsion;  and  the  opposite  qualities  would 
be  drawn  into  it.  The  Washington  lobby  has  given  us 
some  means  of  judging  what  we  may  expect  from  the 
woman  '  inside  politics.'  If  politics  are  to  be  purified  by 
artfulness,  effrontery,  insensibility,  a  pushing  self-asser 
tion,  a  glib  tongue,  then  we  may  look  for  regeneration; 
for  the  typical  female  politician  will  be  richly  endowed 
with  all  these  gifts,  besides  the  potency  of  feminine 
charms  aided  by  feminine  wiles.  The  'woman  inside 
politics '  will  not  fail  to  make  use  of  an  influence  so 
subtle  and  strong,  and  of  which  the  management  is  pecu 
liarly  suited  to  her  talents.  If  she  is  not  gifted  with 
charms  of  her  own,  she  will  have  no  difficulty  in  finding 
and  using  others  of  her  sex  who  are.  Delilah  has  al 
ready  spread  her  snares  for  the  congressional  Samson.  .  .  . 
Woman  suffragists  have  done  nothing  to  prove  their  fit 
ness  for  a  share  in  government  —  not  having  produced  a 
single  sound  and  useful  contribution  to  one  side  or  the 
other  of  any  question  of  current  politics.  ...  As  the  ma 
jority  of  women  are  averse  to  the  suffrage  "  it  should 
not  be  granted  at  the  request  of  a  minority  of  agita 
tors.  "  All  usages,  laws,  and  institutions  have  risen  and 
perished,  and  risen  and  perished  again.  Their  history 
is  the  history  of  mutability  itself.  But  from  the  earliest 
records  of  mankind  down  to  this  moment,  in  every  race 
and  every  form  or  degree  of  civilization  or  barbarism, 


PARKMAN  AS  SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         291 

the  relative  position  of  the  sexes  has  been  essentially 
the  same,  with  exceptions  so  feeble,  rare  and  transient 
that  they  only  prove  the  rule.  Such  permanence  in  the 
foundation  of  society,  while  all  that  rests  upon  it  has 
passed  from  change  to  change,  is  proof  in  itself  that  this 
foundation  lies  deep  in  the  essential  nature  of  things ; " 
that  it  is  unreasonable  to  demand  woman  suffrage  as  a 
right.  "Government  by  doctrines  of  abstract  right,  of 
which  the  French  Revolution  set  the  example  and  bore 
the  fruits,  involves  enormous  danger  and  injustice.  No 
political  right  is  absolute  and  of  universal  application. 
Each  has  its  conditions,  qualifications  and  limitations. 
.  .  .  Rights  may  be  real  or  unreal.  Principles  may  be 
true  or  false;  but  even  the  best  and  truest  cannot  safely 
be  pushed  too  far,  or  in  the  wrong  direction.  The 
principle  of  truth  itself  may  be  carried  into  absurdity. 
The  saying  is  old  that  truth  should  not  be  spoken  at 
all  times;  and  those  whom  a  sick  conscience  worries 
into  habitual  violation  of  the  maxim  are  imbeciles  and 
nuisances.  .  .  .  The  voting  of  a  large  non-combatant  class 
is  dangerous  to  civil  harmony."  The  "suffragists7  idea 
of  government  is  not  practical,  but  utterly  unpractical, 
not  American  but  French.  It  is  that  government  of 
abstractions  and  generalities  which  found  its  realiza 
tion  in  the  French  Revolution,  and  its  apostle  in  the 
depraved  and  half-crazy  man  of  genius,  Jean- Jacques 
Rousseau.  .  .  .  Out  of  the  wholesome  fruit  of  the  earth, 
and  the  staff  of  life  itself,  the  perverse  chemistry  of  man 
distils  deleterious  vapors  which,  condensed  and  bottled, 
exalt  his  brain  with  glorious  fantasies,  and  then  leave 
him  in  the  mud.  So  it  is  with  the  unhappy  suffragists. 
From  the  sober  words  of  our  ancestors  they  extract 


292  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  means  of  mental  inebriety.  .  .  .  The  question  is, 
whether  the  persistency  of  a  few  agitators  shall  plunge 
us  blindfold  into  the  most  reckless  of  all  experiments; 
whether  we  shall  adopt  this  supreme  device  for  develop 
ing  the  defects  of  women,  and  demolish  their  real  power 
to  build  an  ugly  mockery  instead.  For  the  sake  of 
womanhood  let  us  hope  not.  ...  In  the  full  and  normal 
development  of  womanhood  lie  the  best  interests  of  the 
world.  Let  us  labor  earnestly  for  it;  and,  that  we  may 
not  labor  in  vain,  let  us  save  women  from  the  barren 
perturbations  of  American  politics.  Let  us  respect 
them;  and,  that  we  may  do  so,  let  us  pray  for  deliver 
ance  from  female  suffrage. " 

Both  advocates  and  opponents  felt  that  the  general 
tone  of  this  pamphlet  did  Parkman  injustice.  It 
does,  indeed,  surprise  one  by  the  absence  of  the  im 
partiality  and  thoroughness  of  his  historical  works, 
by  its  lack  of  discrimination  as  to  the  different  classes 
of  woman  suffragists,  and  by  the  roughness  and  dis 
courtesy  in  some  of  its  remarks  on  women.  But  his 
opinions  and  feelings  as  to  woman,  her  development 
and  her  rights  as  a  whole,  are  not  to  be  confounded 
with  his  hatred  and  fear  of  woman  suffrage.  In  all 
these  matters  his  views  were  unconsciously  influenced 
somewhat  by  his  personal  tastes;  for  here,  as  else 
where,  his  preferences  were  distinct  and  strong,  being 
quite  opposed  to  the  typical  "  strongminded "  and 
oratorical  woman.  His  social  environment  and 
family  traditions  supported  his  view  of  woman's  limi 
tations  and  his  antipathy  for  everything  connected 
with  the  agitation  on  her  behalf.  This  pamphlet 


PARKMA1ST  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS   WORKS         293 

brought  upon  him  some  sharp  criticism;  but  he  thus 
recorded  his  indifference  to  such  attacks : 

"I  am  occupied  as  usual  with  historical  matters,  varied 
with  other  avocations,  including  (in  a  literary  way)  some 
reviews  that  have  brought  as  I  expected,  a  beehive  about 
my  ears,  or  rather  several  beehives,  or  waspnests,  com 
posed  of  ultramontane  catholics,  ultra  democrats,  and 
woman  suffragists.  Though  their  buzzing  is  great  and 
furious,  I  do  not  yet  find  that  they  sting."1 

The  other  side  of  his  attitude  towards  woman's 
functions  and  rights  is  plain  for  those  who  knew  him; 
but  the  stranger  who  should  read  only  this  pamphlet 
might  easily  be  misled  as  to  his  total  view  on  this 
question.  The  exigencies  of  an  argument  which  had 
to  be  brought  into  small  compass  probably  constrained 
him  to  dwell  rather  on  the  incapacities  of  women 
than  on  their  abilities  and  worth.  He  does  express 
here  and  there,  however,  his  aims  and  hopes  for 
women  in  no  uncertain  terms ;  and  his  demands  are 
both  fundamental  and  far-reaching.  Here  is  his 
general  estimate  of  their  importance  in  civilization : 

"They  can,  if  they  will,  create   and  maintain  higher' 
standards  of  thought   and  purpose,  raise   the  whole  tone 
of   national   life,   and    give   our    civilization    the   fulness 
that    it    lacks;    for    if   they    raise    themselves    they    will 
infallibly  raise  the  men  with  them." 

He  believed  that  the  hope  of  civilization  rests  upon 
the  most  perfect  discharge  of  the  maternal  functions, 
that   early   marriages    and   large   families    are   most 
i  To  B.  A.  Gould,  Feb.  1,  1880. 


294  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

desirable,  and  that  the  home  duties  of  a  woman  leave 
little  time  for  any  other  labors.  His  friendships  with 
noble  women,  and  their  devotion  to  him,  are  unques 
tionable  proofs  of  his  chivalric  appreciation.  What 
can  a  man  say  stronger  than  this:  "Truth  itself 
would  seem  hardly  worth  the  pursuit  if  women  were 
not  in  the  world." 

In  examining  Parkman's  attitude  towards  these 
topics  of  the  times,  we  have  seen  something  of  his 
intellectual  traits;  but  perhaps  we  may  still  pursue 
this  subject  for  a  moment,  to  get  a  more  intimate 
glimpse  of  his  general  spirit  and  moral  sensibilities. 
He  differed  from  many  writers  of  his  time  in  having 
a  definite  philosophy  of  civilization.  The  laissez- 
aller  policy  was  completely  foreign  to  him.  His 
philosophy  and  hopes  of  civilization  were  based  on 
his  dominant  traits  so  fully  discussed  in  this  book, 
and  his  philosophy  of  life.  He  took  all  questions 
simply  and  directly,  seeking  always  the  practical, 
positive  and  exact.  He  was  strongly  opposed  to 
many  elements  of  philanthropic  reform,  and  could 
not  accept,  either  for  himself  or  others,  any  project 
that  put  into  the  second  rank  the  virtues  of  independ 
ence,  industry,  and  honesty.  Indeed  he  opposed 
himself  so  bluntly  and  broadly  to  all  philanthropic 
reforms  and  their  advocates  as  almost  to  appear  in 
different  to  the  welfare  of  the  race.  The  isolation  in 
which  he  was  compelled  to  live  may  have  had  some 
thing  to  do  with  this  habitual  mode  of  thought;  for 
few  men  of  equal  eminence  ever  had  so  little  personal 
or  intellectual  contact  with  the  liberal  leaders  of  their 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN"  IN   HIS   WORKS         295 

time.     As  heredity  made  him  stronger  in  antipathies 
than  in  admirations  and  sympathies,  he  was  necessa 
rily  a  severe   critic  of   life.     His  own   asperity  was 
hateful  to  him,  but  he  could  not  cut  loose  from  that 
side  of  his  nature.     Helped  by  the  warmth  of  per 
sonal  contact  and   friendship,  we  find  him    judging 
men  charitably  and  generously ;  but  in  the  absence  of 
this  humane  influence  he  was  neither  charitable  nor 
generous.     He  did  not  take  at  their  best  either  causes 
or  champions  that  he  disapproved;  on  the  contrary, 
his  keen  eye  never  failed  to  find  some  personal  weak 
ness  in  a  reformer,  some   false   assumption  or  some 
exaggeration;    and   he   held   this   up   to   view  with 
caustic  humor.     Excepting  a  vile  politician,  no  one 
repelled  him  more  than  a  reformer  marked  by  extreme 
views  and  eccentric  conduct.     Those  from  whom  he 
differed   in   questions  of  life   and  morals  often  got 
themselves   characterized  as  "fools."     It  seems  but 
just    to    point    out    that    Parkman's    controversial 
papers   offer   the    only   exception  to   the   kindliness 
and  urbanity  of  his  manners.     Those    of   his    read 
ers  who   feel  that  he  was  lacking    in   courtesy  and 
fairness,  will  understand  him  better  if  they  remem 
ber  the  continual   inward  pressure  under  which  he 
wrote. 

A  sense  of  civic  duty  made  him  ride  hard  against 
idealists  and  reformers.  He  considered  that  tran 
scendentalism  was  weakening  to  common-sense  and 
dangerous  to  practical  aims.  "The  ideal  reformer," 
said  he,  "is  generally  a  nuisance  when  he  tries  to 


296  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

deal  with  the  broad  and  many-sided  questions  in 
volved  in  the  government  of  nations." 

But  with  all  his  vehemence  Parkman  made  no 
personal  enemies;  he  was  too  considerate  to  talk  of 
people  lightly,  and  he  despised  gossip;  his  censure, 
even  the  most  energetic,  was  not  only  free  from  any 
mean  or  personal  motives,  but  made  distinctly  for  the 
elevation  of  life  and  character. 

Parkman  combined  two  sharply  opposed  beings, 
—  a  conservative  and  a  liberal.  In  the  firmness  of 
his  conservatism  he  might  be  likened  to  a  statue; 
but  the  marble  was  aglow  with  a  fiery  zeal  for  growth. 
In  him  conservatism  was  the  resistant  medium  which 
brought  his  spirit  to  expression,  denning  his  aspira 
tions  nearly  as  well  as  direct  statements  of  liberalism 
would  have  done.  Environment,  moreover,  had  done 
little  for  a  not  very  elastic  nature.  So  he  continued 
to  live,  with  his  usual  loyalty  and  persistence,  faithful 
to  the  traditions  of  his  family  and  community.  His 
capacity  for  culture  may  be  thought  to  have  failed  in 
giving  him  breadth  of  sympathy  in  citizenship ;  never 
theless,  it  was  effective  even  while  not  changing  the 
lines  of  his  hopes  for  humanity.  It  could  have  been 
no  common  conservatism  that  mastered  a  man  of 
such  courage  and  initiative,  shown  not  by  ventures 
but  by  opposition  to  ventures.  He  instinctively 
regarded  changes  as  evils.  And  yet,  despite  the 
historical  cast  of  his  mind,  his  conservatism  was 
unpoetized  by  any  sentimental  regard  for  tradition; 
an  idea  did  not  attract  him  because  of  its  antiquity 


PARKMAN  AS   SEEN  IN  HIS  WORKS         297 

but  because  of  the  truth  it  contained.  Though  pessi 
mistic  he  was  not  a  pessimist  in  the  depressing,  philo 
sophic  sense;  his  pessimism  sprang  from  doubts  not 
of  divine  but  of  democratic  wisdom;  while  especially 
hating  what  he  stigmatized  as  "  the  senseless  optimism 
which  leads  so  many  Americans  to  imagine  that  all 
will  go  well  in  the  end,  whatever  they  may  do  or  fail 
to  do ;  and  that  our  Ship  of  State  cannot  be  wrecked, 
whether  the  crew  do  their  duty  or  not,"1  he  recog 
nized  that  "  Faith  is  indispensable  to  all  achievement ; 
but  it  must  not  quarrel  with  common  sense,  nor  walk 
with  eyes  shut."  He  was  a  fighting,  inspiring  pes 
simist,  always  ready  to  lead  even  a  forlorn  hope.  His 
essential  liberality  was  no  less  real  because  of  its  con 
finement  to  certain  lines.  While  his  bugbear  was  the 
levelling-down  tendencies  of  modern  democratic  in 
stitutions,  his  hopes  of  civilization  were  unshakable, 
standing  on  the  worth  of  the  individual  citizen. 
His  liberality  was  intensely  earnest  in  desiring  what 
ever  favors  the  growth  of  character.  With  his  love 
of  nature  — •  not  stopping  at  the  edge  of  the  forest  — 
he  wished  people  to  enjoy  the  utmost  freedom  for 
growth,  each  according  to  his  individual  capacities. 

Parkman's  hopes,  then,  rested  on  good  birth,  the 
best  culture,  the  subordination  of  materialism,  and  the 
leadership  of  worthy  statesmen.  For  these  things  he 
worked  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  his  nature,  along 
the  lines  of  a  conservative  and  high-minded  student 
of  history  and  of  life. 

1  Our  Common  Schools,  p.  1. 


III 

SPIRITUAL  GROWTH 


CHAPTER  XII 

PARKMAN'S  greatest  triumph  was  not  the  writing 
of  books,  but  the  self-command  acquired  in  remould 
ing  his  nature  to  his  conditions.  For  the  peculiar 
conditions  of  his  nervous  system  made  everything 
depend  upon  the  issue,  —  not  only  the  execution  of 
his  literary  project,  but  also  his  physical  health,  his 
sanity,  life  itself.  This  contest  involved  all  the 
forces  of  his  being ;  it  showed  the  most  striking  traits 
of  his  character;  it  occasioned  the  most  impressive 
experiences  of  his  career ;  it  moulded  his  daily  life ; 
it  modified  his  spiritual  and  intellectual  growth ;  and 
it  determined  to  a  certain  degree  the  methods,  limits, 
and  qualities  of  his  work.  I  am  therefore  reluctantly 
compelled  to  ignore  his  distaste  for  even  the  mention 
of  his  personal  health,  and  give  some  space  to  its 
consideration. 

Self-mastery  was  doubly  necessary,  both  from  the 
nature  of  his  maladies  and  from  the  need  of  extreme 
caution  in  using  whatever  strength  they  left  him. 
He  literally  had  to  remake  himself. 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  299 

Parkman  was  a  pathetic  figure  to  those  who  knew 
his  life,  though  nothing  could  be  farther  from  his 
wishes  than  to  appear  in  any  such  character.  Let 
us  rehearse  for  a  moment  the  advantages  of  his 
career,  which  made  this  pathos  the  more  striking. 
He  had  a  boundless  ambition,  and  his  equipment  for 
its  fulfilment  was  all  that  could  be  desired.  Birth 
and  fortune  had  united  to  give  him  all  the  advan 
tages  derivable  from  a  good  social  position ;  he  had 
discovered  the  bent  of  his  tastes  and  gifts  at  a  very 
early  age,  and  followed  them  closely  with  zeal  and 
intelligence;  he  had  directed  his  own  education  with 
the  utmost  economy  of  forces  to  secure  the  special 
culture  needed  for  his  chosen  labors;  travel  had 
bestowed  inestimable  opportunities  for  observing  life 
and  character;  the  stimulus  of  public  appreciation 
coming  early  had  spurred  him  on  to  complete  achieve 
ment;  domestic  circumstances  enabled  him  to  de 
vote  himself  wholly  to  his  work;  he  had  the  help 
of  a  great  theme  that  entirely  commanded  his  sym 
pathies,  and  focussed  all  his  powers  throughout  life 
on  a  field  of  definite  extent;  finally,  he  possessed  in 
generous  measure  the  moral  and  intellectual  qualities 
needed  for  the  execution  of  his  task.  It  would 
seem  that  nothing  could  have  been  lacking  in  the 
happy  prospect  opened  before  him. 

But  almost  from  the  start  his  progress  was  made 
difficult,  even  dangerous,  by  shadows  about  him  as 
strong  as  the  light  above.  He  soon  became  not  only 
unable  to  mse  his  eyes  with  safety,  but  he  was  weak- 


300  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAtf 

ened  by  sufferings  that  would  have  paralyzed  the 
powers  and  courage  of  most  men.  "The  enemy," 
like  his  Iroquois,  often  held  him  prisoner,  and  meas 
ured  out  to  him  with  pitiless  atrocity  just  as  much 
torture  as  he  could  endure.  Parkman  never  talked 
of  these  trials ;  he  hardly  more  than  hints  at  them  in 
his  autobiographic  paper,  to  which  he  confided  more 
than  he  ever  said  to  even  his  most  intimate  friends. 
Our  only  way  of  realizing  the  strain  he  successfully 
bore  is  to  note  the  strength  of  the  faculties  opposed  by 
his  infirmities.  We  shall  see  that  nearly  every  fun 
damental  tendency  of  his  nature  was  refused  its 
normal  action  by  physical  and  mental  conditions  of 
the  most  exasperating  and  discouraging  kind.  These 
deep-reaching  privations  touched  the  very  heart  of 
the  vigorous  man,  the  social  friend,  and  the  ambitious 
author.  His  personal  inner  life  for  a  long  while 
lacked,  to  a  painful  degree,  the  unity  and  harmony 
that  marked  so  strongly  his  literary  career. 

Some  of  Parkman's  strongest  characteristics  were 
not  shown  in  early  youth.  His  teacher  described 
him  as  a  "  quiet,  gentle,  and  docile  boy;  "  this  general 
character,  so  opposed  to  his  subsequent  mercurial 
activity,  may  have  been  due  to  his  lack  of  abounding 
health  at  that  time.  Patience  was  not  one  of  his 
natural  traits.  Nor  was  he  more  truthful  and  mag 
nanimous  than  the  average  boy  of  his  community. 
We  must  note  another  youthful  tendency,  and  one 
that  was  not  curbed  until  his  moral  sense  had  gained 
the  fullest  development:  a  domineering  spirit.  This 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  301 

tendency  was  more  an  expression  of  his  independence 
of  judgment  and  force  of  will,  than  any  mere  disposi 
tion  to  tyrannize  or  command.  A  masterful  spirit  at 
all  periods  of  his  life,  he  never  interfered  with  the 
freedom  of  others,  or  followed  petty  aims  or  personal 
gratifications.  Without  this  quality  of  strength  and 
mastery  he  could  not  have  reached  his  goal ;  and  he 
seems  never  to  have  allowed  even  its  defects  to  grow 
beyond  the  clearest  and  most  imperative  needs  of  his 
condition  and  work. 

As  we  often  have  occasion  to  say,  Parkman's 
ruling  ideal  was  manliness.  It  is  not  easy  to  give 
the  fullest  impression  of  this  quality  as  expressed  in 
him.  It  was  more  of  the  intellectual  and  physical 
or  martial  type  than  of  the  spiritual.  Yet  fate  denied 
him  physical  activity  and  called  upon  him  for  the 
utmost  strength  of  many  spiritual  qualities.  He 
has  told  us  that  his  first  boyish  fancy  was  "for  a 
life  of  action  and  death  in  battle,"  and  we  know  that 
the  severest  disappointment  of  his  life  was  his  inability 
to  enter  the  army  during  our  civil  war.  Rarely  in 
his  books  does  he  give  any  expression  to  his  own 
feelings  and  tastes,  but  he  revealed  one  of  the  deep 
est  recesses  of  his  nature  in  speaking,  in  "The 
Jesuits,"  of  Maisonneuve, — "The  religion  which 
animated  him  had  not  destroyed  the  soldierly  pride 
which  takes  root  so  readily  and  so  strongly  in  a  manly 
nature." 

Many  of  Parkman's  traits  of  mind  and  character 
were  distinctly  those  of  a  soldier.  He  liked  a  fight 


302  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

for  its  own  sake,  and  for  the  energy,  courage,  and 
strength  it  called  forth.  Especially  did  he  warm  to 
it  if  the  triumph  of  justice  and  freedom  were  helped 
thereby.  He  showed  particular  pleasure  when  his 
little  granddaughter  beat  off  two  ruffian  boys  who 
tried  to  take  a  sled  from  one  of  her  playmates.  He 
never  forgave  the  Quakers  for  refusing  to  fight  the 
Indians  and  defend  the  country.  A  newspaper  arti 
cle  by  him  contains  the  following : 

"In  every  well-balanced  development  of  nations  as  of 
individuals,  the  warlike  instinct  and  the  military  point 
of  honor  are  not  repressed  and  extinguished,  but  only 
refined  and  civilized.  It  belongs  to  the  pedagogue,  not 
to  the  philosopher,  to  declaim  against  them  as  relics  of 
barbarism." 

He  loved  the  experiences  and  the  objective  elements 
of  a  military  life,  —  the  activity,  the  adventure, 
hardship,  danger.  In  a  larger  view  of  his  mental 
attitude,  his  papers  on  Suffrage  show  that  he  counted 
a  great  deal  on  physical  force  in  government ;  by  his 
temperament  and  his  study  of  history,  he  naturally 
exalted  war  to  a  very  important  role  in  civilization. 
Moreover,  he  regarded  war  as  a  valuable  aid  in  the 
development  of  personal  and  national  character.  I 
do  not  recall  in  his  writing  any  recognition  of  its  evil 
effects  on  men.  Despite  all  this,  however,  we  can 
not  find  in  him  any  admiration  for  the  bully  or  the 
"  jingo." 

But  Parkman's  nature  had  even  more  of  the  mili 
tant  than  these  feelings  and  opinions  would  indicate, 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  303 

Many  of  his  talents  fitted  him  especially  for  a  mar 
tial  career.  In  the  first  place,  he  possessed  in  their 
greatest  force  five  of  the  most  fundamental  requisites 
of  a  commander:  practical  wisdom,  energy,  courage, 
prudence,  and  intellectual  power.  His  love  of  order 
and  his  spirit  as  shown  in  self-discipline,  promised 
well  for  the  discipline  of  an  army.  Thanks  to  his 
exceptional  judgment  of  men,  he  would  have  been 
most  capable  in  selecting  subordinates.  Although 
without  the  overflowing  personal  magnetism  that 
quickly  wins  popularity  on  the  largest  scale  and  in 
fuses  the  masses  with  enthusiasm,  yet  he  had  the 
dignity,  the  ability,  and  the  genial  sincerity  that  win 
friendship  and  inspire  at  last  the  fullest  confidence  of 
a  people.  As  for  the  tenacity  and  firmness  of  pur 
pose  required  to  follow  a  plan  to  its  ultimate  issue, 
no  one  could  give  more  unquestionable  assurance. 

When  the  civil  war  caused  him  to  look  up  from  his 
books,  Parkman  longed  for  a  chance  to  serve  his 
country  and  try  his  hand.  Unable  to  go  to  the  war 
himself,  he  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  by  showing  a 
keen  interest  in  young  men  who  could  go,  and  by 
writing,  now  and  then,  for  the  press  a  piece  that 
glowed  with  the  fire  and  elevation  of  his  patriotism. 
He  always  remembered  with  bitterness  his  inability, 
and  closed  his  autobiography  with  an  expression  of 
this  disappointment,  in  words  that  suggest  a  deeper 
meaning  for  himself  than  a  reference  to  the  needs  of 
the  hour:  "Irksome,"  he  said,  as  may  have  been  his 
infirmities,  they  were  "far  less  oppressive  than  the 


304  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

necessity  they  involved  of  being  busied  with  the  past 
when  the  present  has  claims  so  urgent,  and  holding 
the  pen  with  a  hand  that  should  have  grasped  the 
sword." 

His  love  of  action  always  pulled  against  his  love  of 
study.  Such  seemingly  incompatible  passions  are 
rarely  seen  together  in  such  force.  Even  in  his  col 
lege  days,  while  still  in  good  health  and  much  inter 
ested  in  physical  culture,  he  was  remarked  as  a  man 
of  retirement  and  industry,  a  reserved,  brooding  stu 
dent,  who  seldom  invited  any  one  to  his  room,  and 
at  the  same  time  an  impetuous,  social  youth.  But 
action  was  his  first  instinctive  mode  of  expression, 
his  chief  pleasure  in  life.  And  it  was,  moreover,  a 
kind  of  abnormal,  physical  necessity,  as  well  as  a 
propensity  of  his  mind.  An  incident  of  the  Oregon 
Trail  journey  shows  this  trait  very  plainly.  One 
night  when  Tete  Rouge  came  to  the  tent  and  said 
that  Indians  were  stealing  the  horses,  Parkman 
seized  his  rifle  and  rushed  out,  erect  as  a  target, 
instead  of  following  the  more  cautious  tactics  usual 
with  men  of  the  prairies.  He  did  so,  not  because 
he  was  ignorant  of  the  risk,  but,  having  a  courage 
utterly  indifferent  to  danger,  he  followed  his  first 
and  strongest  impulse.  Idleness  and  confinement 
were  therefore  the  hardest  experience  life  could  im 
pose.  Every  fibre  of  the  man  recoiled  from  such 
an  existence,  and  he  abominated  the  spirit  of  resig 
nation.  He  tells  of  the  trial  in  these  words  to  a 
friend,  written  in  1849: 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  305 

"  From  a  complete  and  ample  experience  of  both,  I  can 
bear  witness  that  no  amount  of  physical  pain  is  so  intol 
erable  as  the  position  of  being  stranded,  and  doomed  to 
lie  rotting  for  year  after  year.  However,  I  have  not  yet 
abandoned  any  plan  which  I  ever  formed,  and  I  have  no 
intention  of  abandoning  any." 

The  tension  of  the  strain  put  upon  him  is  well  told 
by  Vassall  Morton  when  confined  in  an  Austrian 
dungeon,  p.  208: 

"It  is  but  a  weak  punishment  to  which  Milton  dooms 
his  ruined  angel.  Action,  enterprise,  achievement, — a 
hell  like  that  is  heaven  to  the  cells  of  Ehrenberg.  He 
should  have  chained  him  to  a  rock,  and  left  him  alone  to 
the  torture  of  bis  own  thoughts;  the  unutterable  agonies 
of  a  mind  preying  on  itself  for  want  of  other  sustenance. 
Action!  mured  in  this  dungeon,  the  soul  gasps  for  it  as 
the  lungs  for  air.  Action,  action,  action!  —  all  in  all! 
What  is  life  without  it  ?  A  marsh,  a  quagmire,  a  rotten, 
stagnant  pool.  It  is  its  own  reward.  The  chase  is  all; 
the  prize  nothing." 

And  how  personal  are  his  reflections  on  the  prospect 
of  no  escape  from  his  misfortunes : 

"  Yet  it  is  something  that  I  can  still  find  heart  to  face 
my  doom ;  that  there  are  still  moments  when  I  dare  to 
meet  this  death-in-life,  this  slow-consuming  horror,  face 
to  face,  and  look  into  all  its  hideousness  without  shrink 
ing.  To  creep  on  to  my  end  through  years  of  slow  decay, 
mind  and  soul  famishing  in  solitude,  sapped  and  worn, 
eaten  and  fretted  away,  by  the  droppings  of  lonely  - 

20 


306  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

thought,  till  I  find  my  rest  at  last  under  these  cursed 
stones!  " 

The  passage  is  only  too  intimate  and  painful  to  any 
one  who  knows  Parkman's  experience  and  character. 
Yet  there  was  no  melancholy  in  his  temperament, 
and  his  consequent  cheerfulness  sweetened  his 
fortitude. 

Parkman's  love  of  study  was  second  only  to  his 
love  of  action.  Lowell  saw  deeply  into  his  nature 
in  speaking  of  his  " aptitude  for  culture."  And  Park- 
man  undoubtedly  recognized  his  own  gifts  and  ten 
dencies  very  clearly;  he  makes  the  woman  who  has 
the  most  insight  and  knowledge  of  Vassall  Morton 
say  to  him  (p.  372),  "  You  seem  to  me  a  person  with 
a  singular  capacity  of  growth.  You  push  forth  fibres 
into  every  soil,  and  draw  nutriment  from  sources 
most  foreign  to  you."  His  weakness  of  eyes  and 
brain  were  thus  one  of  the  hardest  spiritual  trials  he 
could  meet.  And  they  must  have  been  particularly 
exasperating  in  his  special  pursuit,  for  historical 
research  is  hunting  the  needle  in  a  haystack. 

But  strong  as  was  his  love  of  study,  the  social 
tendencies,  too,  had  their  way.  He  was  never  a 
recluse  in  spirit,  but  derived  the  most  beneficial 
stimulus  from  society,  being  specially  sensitive  to  the 
charms  of  women.  It  was  no  light  matter  for  this 
virile  man,  this  social  being,  this  hater  of  asceticism, 
to  be  so  often  restricted  to  the  privations  of  a  monastic 
rule. 

Those  of  us  who  knew  him  only  in  the  latter  part 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  307 

of  his  life,  when  he  had  been  reduced  to  habits  of 
quietude,  find  it  difficult  to  realize  the  fall  force  of 
his  ardor.  The  quiet,  reserved  manner,  the  firm 
stand  on  common  sense,  the  conservative  prudence  in 
all  things,  the  serene  self-command  in  daily  life  might 
well  deceive  even  a  close  observer.  His  repression 
of  native  impetuosity  was  the  more  remarkable  since 
this  trait  was  reinforced  by  great  nervous  irritability, 
and  this  again  increased  by  continued  insomnia. 
After  ill  health  had  denied  him  freedom  in  exercise, 
his  excess  of  vital  force  could  find  vent  only  in  out 
bursts  of  strong  language.  Mr.  Frothingham  said  of 
him: 

"  Again  and  again  he  had  to  restrain  the  impulse  to 
say  vehement  things,  or  to  do  violent  deeds  without  the 
least  provocation,  but  he  maintained  so  absolutely  his 
moral  self-control  that  none  but  the  closest  observer  would 
notice  any  deviation  from  the  most  perfect  calm  and 
serenity. " 

Nervousness  was  never  allowed  to  pass  into  external 
agitation,  or  the  irritability  seen  in  so  many  high- 
strung  and  able  men.  Parkman  spared  himself  and 
others  such  waste  of  vitality  and  of  peace.  Fortitude 
guided  by  common  sense  certainly  proved  his  salva 
tion,  in  enabling  him  to  plan  his  labors,  husband  his 
forces,  regulate  his  habits  of  living,  and  make  possi 
ble  the  execution  of  his  work.  Few  men  have  been 
so  severely  tested  and  have  shown  these  virtues  raised 
to  so  high  a  power.  His  fortitude  seems  to  have  been 


308  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

equal  to  any  emergency.  Perhaps  it  received  early 
stimulus  from  the  many  examples  of  endurance  he 
met  in  the  study  of  his  historical  personages,  —  the 
Indian  singing  his  death-song  throughout  mortal 
tortures,  the  missionary  meeting  martyrdom  with 
enthusiasm,  the  endurance  of  the  heroic  Jogues,  La 
Salle,  and  many  others. 

Parkman's  philosophy  of  life  should  be  included  in 
this  account  of  his  basic  qualities  and  their  relation  to 
his  experience.  The  average  man  can  live  from 
day  to  day,  blindly  obedient  to  his  instincts  or  am 
bitions,  long  before  he  sees  his  ideal  and  grasps  it. 
He  is  the  common  sailor,  feeling  no  responsibility  be 
yond  the  hour  of  his  watch.  But  a  man  of  Park 
man's  self-commanding  nature  must  have  a  port  of 
destination  and  a  compass  for  directing  his  course. 
Referring  to  his  labors  as  related  to  his  health,  he 
said:  "Under  the  most  favorable  conditions,  it  was 
a  slow  and  doubtful  navigation,  beset  with  reefs 
and  breakers,  demanding  a  constant  lookout  and  a 
constant  throwing  of  the  lead."  These  words  are 
more  or  less  applicable  to  the  dangers  he  was  likely 
to  meet  in  his  mental  and  moral  growth.  What  could 
a  man  do,  destined  to  such  a  voyage  under  such 
clouds  and  storms,  without  a  beckoning  ideal  above 
the  mists! 

And  what  was  Parkman's  philosophy  of  life  ?  We 
ask  the  question  with  eagerness,  but  we  cannot 
hope  to  get  complete  satisfaction  in  the  matter.  His 
habitual  reserve  kept  him  from  talking  on  a  subject 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  309 

so  intimate;  and  the  only  written  statement  of  his 
philosophy  is  this  passage  from  his  diary  of  1846, 
written  at  St.  Louis,  just  before  starting  on  the 
Oregon  Trail  journey.  "  The  true  philosophy  of  life 
is  to  seize  with  a  ready  and  strong  hand  all  the 
good  in  it,  and  to  bear  its  inevitable  evils  as  calmly 
and  carelessly  as  may  be."  This  creed,  in  its  general 
lightness  of  tone,  is  not  quite  in  accord  with  his  life 
and  character  taken  as  a  whole ;  but  it  was  probably 
true  to  his  hopes  and  aims  in  the  full  vigor  and 
freedom  of  youth.  We  cannot  help  observing,  how 
ever,  that  it  points  somewhat  away  from  his  self- 
sacrificing  devotion  to  duty,  and  sounds  a  false  note 
in  regard  to  his  earnestness.  He  took  life  too 
seriously,  albeit  calmly,  to  allow  of  any  carelessness, 
even  at  that  age.  Yet  the  profession  is  interesting 
as  furnishing  us  with  his  moral  starting-point  in 
youth. 

The  whole  aspect  of  life  changed  a  few  years  later, 
when  disease  had  fastened  upon  him,  bringing  so 
much  pain  and  such  discouraging  obstacles  to  the 
attainment  of  his  ambition.  But  there  is  no  evidence 
that  he  added  anything  to  his  earliest  creed  except 
ing  a  greater  emphasis  of  endurance.  He  sat  down 
in  his  study  to  his  trials  and  labors  with  a  clenched 
fist  and  a  set  jaw,  and  took  as  his  motto  "  Grin  and 
bear  it."  This  motto  expressed  fully  the  grimness  of 
his  experience  and  the  resistant  force  of  his  manhood. 
Thenceforth  it  remained  his  essential  philosophy  of 
life,  though  in  later  years  it  was  refined  by  the  devel- 


310  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

opment  of  a  gentler  spirit.  The  next  glimpse  we 
have  of  his  inward  feelings  was  given  me  by  a  friend 
who  remembered  a  conversation  with  him  on  ship 
board  while  crossing  the  Atlantic  in  1858.  Parkman 
then  expressed  a  perfect  conviction  that  happiness  is 
not  to  be  expected  in  this  world.  Nothing  Avas  said 
of  the  hereafter.  The  last  evidence  of  his  philo 
sophic  standpoint  is  furnished  by  a  remark  made  only 
a  year  or  two  before  his  death.  Reading  the  Thoughts 
of  M.  Aurelius  Antoninus,  he  said:  "That's  about 
as  good  a  philosophy  of  life  as  you  can  get."  This 
passing  remark  was  taken  as  an  unusual  confidence 
by  the  daughter  to  whom  he  spoke,  and  from  him 
it  indeed  meant  volumes.  Mr.  Frothingham  said: 
"  The  Stoics  never  had  a  nobler  disciple  than  Francis 
Parkman."  This  is  very  true  in  many  ways,  yet  not 
in  all.  Parkman  must  have  had  little  interest  in  the 
theories  and  abstractions  on  which  the  Stoics  estab 
lished  their  physical,  theological,  and  ethical  princi 
ples,  though  he  found  himself  at  home  in  the  solid 
elements  of  their  purely  practical  morality.  He  was 
closest  to  them  in  his  love  of  their  four  cardinal  vir 
tues,  —  "  wisdom,  or  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil ; 
justice,  or  the  giving  to  every  man  his  due;  forti 
tude,  or  the  enduring  of  labor  and  pain ;  and  temper 
ance,  which  is  moderation  in  all  things."  He  eagerly 
accepted  their  large  conception  that  the  end  of  man 
is  to  live  in  conformity  with  nature,  but  was  utterly 
opposed  to  some  of  their  chief  aims.  Just  because 
he  agreed  that  we  should  conform  to  nature,  he  prob- 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  311 

ably  denied  that  we  should  be  indifferent  to  pleasure 
and  pain,  and  despised  any  man  for  being  or  trying  to 
be  devoid  of  passion.  To  him  feeling  was  the  central 
force  in  character.  Instead,  then,  of  accepting  the 
passive  theory  that  all  things  in  life  are  governed  by 
unavoidable  necessity,  he  believed  in  free  will  and 
the  power  of  men  to  shape  events.  By  all  his  chief- 
est  virtues  he  was  more  Spartan  than  Stoic. 

Parkman  apparently  derived  little  or  no  support 
from  religion  in  his  struggle  for  self-mastery.  None 
of  his  writings  contain  any  expression  of  religious 
aspirations  or  reflections ;  he  was  a  stranger  to  relig 
ious  emotion,  so  far  as  we  can  judge;  and  he  never 
ceased  to  be  more  or  less  in  antagonism  towards  the 
clergy  in  general,  towards  all  theological  organiza 
tions,  towards  the  spiritual  elements  of  life  and  char 
acter,  even  taken  independently  of  any  religious 
method  of  culture.  Mr.  Frothingham  says : 

"  Parkman  belonged  rather  to  the  ethical  than  to  the 
spiritual  order  of  men,  — those  who  are  so  admirably 
described  by  Eev.  James  Martineau  in  his  discourse  on 
the  '  Christian  Doctrine  of  Merit.'  '  Till  somebody  has 
a  conscience,  nobody  can  feel  a  law.  Accordingly,  we 
everywhere  meet  with  a  higher  order  of  men,  who  not 
only  comprehend  the  wishes,  but  respect  the  rights  of 
others;  who  are  ruled,  not  by  expectation  without,  but 
by  the  sense  of  obligation  within;  who  do,  not  the  agree 
able,  but  the  just;  and  even  amid  the  storm  of  public 
rage,  can  stand  fast  with  rooted  foot  and  airy  brow,  like 
the  granite  mountain  in  the  sea.  Noble,  however,  as 


312  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

this  foundation  of  uprightness  always  is,  there  may  arise 
from  it  a  self-estimate  too  proud  and  firm.  If  the  stern 
consciousness  of  personal  worth  have  no  kindling  of 
diviner  aspiration,  it  will  give  the  lofty  sense  of  personal 
merit  that  makes  the  stoic  and  misses  the  saint.  We  do 
nothing  well  till  we  know  our  worth ;  nothing  best  till 
we  forget  it.7  ; 

Parkman  was  more  a  man  of  action  and  observa 
tion  than  of  worship,  —  at  any  shrine  whatsoever, 
whether  that  of  nature,  art,  humanity,  or  religion. 
He  would  thus  naturally  remain  on  the  outskirts, 
mostly  a  spectator  of  religious  movements.  And  yet 
there  was  a  religious  side  to  his  nature.  It  may 
be  said  that  he  moved  on  with  his  times  in  reli 
gious  opinions.  He  was  one  of  many  distinguished 
New  Englanders,  descendants  of  clergymen,  who  in 
their  personal  development  went  through  the  same 
religious  evolution  that  has  been  seen  in  society. 
Parkman  began  with  the  early  Unitarian  opinions 
found  in  Channing;  then  he  embraced  the  more 
natural  and  manly  religion  of  Parker ;  and  he  ended 
in  the  agnosticism  that  makes  it  impossible  to  sub 
scribe  to  any  definite  statement  regarding  the  Un 
known.  His  attitude  is  shown  by  this  bit  of  intimate 
conversation  with  his  sister  Eliza.  One  day  when 
they  were  rowing  on  Jamaica  Pond  she  said:  "If  I 
should  be  asked  about  your  religious  beliefs,  it  seems 
to  me  I  might  say  that  you  are  a  reverent  Agnostic." 
"Yes,  that's  about  it." 

He  gave  a  fuller  statement  in  the  following  letter, 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  313 

written  in  September,  1887,  on  the   reception  of   a 
book  entitled  "  The  Safe  Side  " : 

"  The  opinion  that  Christ  was  not  a  person  of  super 
human  origin  has  been  embraced  of  late  years  by  many 
thoughtful  men  and  has  been  discussed  in  many  places, 
sometimes  by  writers  with  knowledge  and  reflection,  and 
sometimes  by  those  indifferently  provided  with  either. 
It  seems  to  me  that  the  world  has  outgrown  the  dogmatic 
part  of  Christianity  which  has  certainly  been  the  source 
of  misery  enough  in  the  past  —  especially  the  doctrine 
of  exclusive  salvation  which  is  the  main  source  of 
persecution. 

"But  when  one  compares  Christianity  on  its  ethical 
side  with  all  other  religious  systems,  with  the  partial 
exception  of  Buddhism,  one  cannot  but  feel  that  whether 
we  believe  in  its  supernatural  origin  or  not,  it  is  to  be 
accepted  with  a  reverent  gratitude  as  a  vast  boon  to 
mankind.'7 

It  is  evident  that  his  interest  in  religion  was  limited 
chiefly  to  its  ethics.  He  very  rarely  refers  to  religion 
in  his  books,  even  in  the  history  of  Canada,  which 
turns  so  largely  on  this  element.  We  find  no  more 
than  a  bare  reference  to  it  now  and  then,  —  as  "  the 
great  principles  of  Christian  truth,"1  or  "that  prin 
ciple  of  self-abnegation  which  is  the  life  of  true  reli 
gion,  and  which  is  vital,  no  less,  to  the  highest  forms 
of  heroism."2  Here  we  catch  the  personal  note,  the 
reflection  of  his  ideal  and  his  experience. 

Despite   his   agnosticism,  however,   and   although 

1  The  Jesuits,  p.  146. 


314  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

there  is  no  writing  to  support  the  opinion,  I  think  he 
believed  in  the  government  of  the  universe  by  a  power 
that  directs  life  continually  to  better  ends.  He  said 
in  a  letter,  "My  faith,  such  as  it  is,  is  strong  and 
earnest;"1  and  he  is  reported  as  believing  that  the 
possibilities  of  a  future  life  were  a  sufficient  motive 
for  striving  to  develop  the  best  possible  character. 

It  may  be  interesting  now  to  glance  at  his  philoso 
phy  from  the  opposite  standpoint,  and  see  it  crystal 
lized  in  practical  virtues.  In  the  following  passage, 
summing  up  the  qualities  of  his  ideal  hero,  Vassall 
Morton,2  he  also  presents  to  any  one  who  knew 
Parkman  an  autobiographic  sketch  of  the  most  im 
pressive  and  touching  veracity. 

"  Manhood,  the  proudest  of  all  possessions  to  a  man,  is 
that  unflinching  quality,  which,  strong  in  generous 
thought  and  high  purpose,  bears  onward  towards  its 
goal,  knowing  no  fear  but  the  fear  of  God;  wise,  pru 
dent,  calm,  yet  daring  and  hoping  all  things  ;  not  dis 
mayed  by  reverses,  nor  elated  by  success,  never  bending 
nor  receding;  wearying  out  ill  fortune  by  undespairing 
constancy;  unconquered  by  pain  or  sorrow,  or  deferred 
hope;  fiery  in  attack,  steadfast  in  resistance,  unshaken 
in  the  front  of  death;  and  when  courage  is  vain,  and 
hope  seems  folly,  when  crushing  calamity  presses  it  to 
the  earth,  and  the  exhausted  body  will  no  longer  obey 
the  still  undaunted  mind,  then  putting  forth  its  hardest, 
saddest  heroism,  the  unlaurelled  heroism  of  endurance, 
patiently  biding  its  time." 

i  To  Abb6  Casgrain,  Feb.  13, 1868.         2  P.  362. 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  315 

To  the  student  of  his  life  the  most  interesting 
writing  left  by  the  historian  is  a  fragment  of  an 
autobiographic  letter  written  in  1868  to  his  friend 
the  late  Dr.  George  E.  Ellis.  Parkman  was  going 
abroad  for  medical  advice  and  historical  research. 
His  health  was  such  that  he  feared  he  might  not  be 
spared  to  complete  his  series  of  works.  He  then 
wrote  this  paper,  sealed  it  up,  and  inscribed  it  "  Not 
to  be  used  during  my  life."  The  following  note 
inclosed  with  it  explains  some  of  the  motives  from 
which  the  paper  sprang: 

50  CHESTNUT  ST.,  28  Nov.  1868. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  Running  my  eye  over  this  paper, 
I  am  more  than  ever  struck  with  its  egoism,  which  makes 
it  totally  unfit  for  any  eye  but  that  of  one  in  close  per 
sonal  relations  with  me. 

It  resulted  from  a  desire  —  natural,  perhaps,  but  which 
may  just  as  well  be  suppressed  —  to  make  known  the 
extreme  difficulties  which  have  reduced  to  very  small 
proportions  what  might  otherwise  have  been  a  good  meas 
ure  of  achievement.  Having  once  begun  it,  I  went  on 
with  it,  though  convinced  that  it  was  wholly  unsuited  to 
see  the  light. 

Physiologically  considered,  the  case  is  rather  curious. 
My  plan  of  life  from  the  first  was  such  as  would  have 
secured  great  bodily  vigor  in  nineteen  cases  out  of 
twenty,  and  was  only  defeated  in  its  aim  by  an  inborn 
irritability  of  constitution  which  required  gentler  treat 
ment  than  I  gave  it.  If  I  had  my  life  to  live  over  again, 
I  would  follow  exactly  the  same  course  again,  only  with 
less  vehemence.  Very  cordially, 

F.  PARKMAN. 


316  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAH 

The  autobiographical  fragment  is  considered  by 
some  of  his  friends  to  be  a  regrettable  production. 
They  think  it  gives  an  impression  of  morbidness 
quite  foreign  to  the  writer's  nature  and  presence; 
and  they  regret  the  publication  of  such  intimate  de 
tails  of  his  physical  and  mental  condition.  The 
paper  reflects  the  self-consciousness  and  introspection 
common  to  New  Englanders.  Both  Puritan  repres 
sion  and  Southern  impulse  contended  for  the  control 
of  this  man's  pen.  But  the  morbidness  comes  from 
the  facts  related  and  the  inevitable  apprehensions  of 
the  hour,  rather  than  from  any  morbidness  of  temper 
ament.  As  for  the  personal  details,  they  were  much 
better  explained  by  his  own  hand  than  by  any  other ; 
besides,  they  were  quite  indispensable  to  one  of  his 
aims  in  writing  the  paper,  namely,  to  make  known 
the  gravity  of  the  difficulties  that  had  so  retarded 
the  progress  of  his  work,  and  that  might  prevent  its 
completion.  For  it  may  be  noted  that  he  had  abstained 
from  making  any  appeal  to  the  sympathy  of  the 
public,  to  its  lenience  in  judging  his  work,  on  the 
score  of  his  infirmities ;  these  are  barely  hinted  at  in 
a  preface  or  two,  as  an  explanation  of  the  delays  in 
publishing  the  successive  volumes  of  his  series.  The 
paper  is  largely  a  pathological  document  that  he  be 
lieved  might  be  of  use  in  the  future.  We  must 
admit,  however,  that  it  seems  somewhat  out  of  keep 
ing  with  his  general  reserve,  and  his  strong  distaste 
for  any  approach  to  the  egotistic.  And  there  is  to  be 
noted  the  additional  fact  that  he  wrote  a  second  paper 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  317 

in  1886  of  the  same  character;   this  one  he  wished 
to   be   given,  after  his  death,  to  the  Massachusetts 
Historical  Society.     With  his  remarkable  memory  it 
is  hardly  possible  that  he  could  have  forgotten  the 
existence  of  the  first  one.     Perhaps  he  regarded  its 
preservation  in  any  private  hands  as  less  certain  than 
in  the  archives  of  this  Society.     These  papers  seem  to 
me  to  have  had  still  another  source  in  a  motive  very 
natural  to  a  man  of  his  pride  and  integrity.     He  de 
sired,  in  case  of  not  being  spared  to  finish  his  task,  to 
make  sure  of  his  clearance  from  the  slightest  suspi 
cion  of  having   done  less  than  his  utmost.     At  all 
events,   we  may  be  thankful   for  so  full  a   note  of 
his  personality  and  inner  experiences.     Still  another 
word  may  preface  it.     His  most  insidious  enemy  was 
brain   trouble.      His   physician   in    Paris,    the   most 
noted  specialist  of  his  day,  had  said  that  he  might 
go  insane,  and  that  his  cure  was  extremely  doubt 
ful.     The  wisdom  of  making  known  this  diagnosis 
to  the  patient  has  been  questioned ;  but  it  was  per 
haps  the  only  course,  in  view  of  the  precautions  that 
had   to   be  an  important  element  of  his  daily  life. 
In   his   autobiography   he   speaks    of    these   medical 
opinions  and  his  danger  in  the  jocose  way  frequent 
with  him  in  mentioning  even   his    worst   condition. 
But  the  matter  inevitably  weighed  at  times  upon  his 
mind.       He    occasionally   expressed   wonder    at   not 
going  insane  with  so  much  nervous  exhaustion  from 
insomnia;  and  he  asked  one  or  two  intimate  literary 
friends  to  watch  for  signs  of  mental  disorder  in  his 


318  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

writings.  His  French  physicians  were  all  the  more 
justified  in  their  apprehensions  by  their  ignorance  of 
the  New  England  character.  They  could  not  con 
ceive  of  a  man  with  a  will  and  a  power  of  self-control 
equal  to  any  trial,  however  severe  or  protracted. 

Although  we  have  made  several  extracts  from  this 
production,  its  importance  justifies  us  in  presenting 
it  now  entire.  When  the  package  of  posthumous 
manuscript  was  opened,  it  lacked  the  first  seven 
pages,  which  for  some  reason  Parkman  had  decided 
to  reserve.  The  story  begins  abruptly  thus: 

"  Allusion  was  made  at  the  outset  to  obstacles  which 
have  checked  the  progress  of  the  work,  if  the  name  of 
obstacles  can  be  applied  to  obstructions  at  times  impass 
able  and  of  such  a  nature  that  even  to  contend  against 
them  would  have  been  little  else  than  an  act  of  self- 
destruction.  The  case  in  question  is  certainly  an  excep 
tional  one;  but  as  it  has  analogies  with  various  other 
cases,  not  rare  under  the  stimulus  of  our  social  and 
material  influences,  a  knowledge  of  it  may  prove  of  use. 
For  this  as  for  otber  reasons,  the  writer  judges  it  expedi 
ent  to  state  it  in  full,  though  in  doing  so  much  personal 
detail  must  needs  be  involved. 

"  His  childhood  was  neither  healthful  nor  buoyant. 
His  boyhood  though  for  a  time  active,  was  not  robust, 
and  at  the  age  of  eleven  or  twelve  he  conceived  a 
vehement  liking  for  pursuits,  a  devotion  to  which  at 
that  time  of  life  far  oftener  indicates  a  bodily  defect 
than  a  mental  superiority.  Chemical  experiment  was 
his  favorite  hobby,  and  he  pursued  it  with  a  tenacious 
eagerness  which,  well  guided,  would  have  led  to  some 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  319 

acquaintance  with  the  rudiments  of  the  science,  but 
which  in  fact  served  little  other  purpose  than  injuring 
him  by  confinement,  poisoning  him  with  noxious  gases, 
and  occasionally  scorching  him  with  some  ill-starred 
explosion.1 

"  The  age  of  fifteen  or  sixteen  produced  a  revolution. 
At  that  momentous  period  of  life  retorts  and  crucibles 
were  forever  discarded,  and  an  activity  somewhat  exces 
sive  took  the  place  of  voluntary  confinement.  A  new 
passion  seized  him,  which,  but  half  gratified,  still  holds 
its  force.  He  became  enamoured  of  the  woods,  —  a  fancy 
which  soon  gained  full  control  over  the  course  of  literary 
pursuits  to  which  he  was  also  addicted.  After  the  usual 
boyish  phases  of  ambitious  self-ignorance,  he  resolved 
to  confine  his  homage  to  the  Muse  of  History,  as  being 
less  apt  than  her  wayward  sisters  to  requite  his  devotion 
with  a  mortifying  rebuff.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  the 
plan  which  he  is  still  attempting  to  execute  was,  in  its 
most  essential  features,  formed.  His  idea  was  clear 
before  him,  yet  attended  with  unpleasant  doubts  as  to 
his  ability  to  realize  it  to  his  own  satisfaction.  To  solve 

1  In  the  second  paper  he  gave  some  additional  facts  in  regard  to 
his  childhood.  He  there  writes :  "  At  eight  years  I  was  sent  to  a 
farm  belonging  to  my  maternal  grandfather,  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  extensive  tract  of  wild  and  rough  woodland  now  called  Middle 
sex  Pells.  I  walked  twice  a  day  to  a  school  of  high  but  undeserved 
reputation,  about  a  mile  distant,  in  the  town  of  Medford.  Here  I 
learned  very  little,  and  spent  the  intervals  of  schooling  more  pro 
fitably  in  collecting  eggs,  insects,  and  reptiles,  trapping  squirrels 
and  woodchucks,  and  making  persistent  though  rarely  fortunate 
attempts  to  kill  birds  with  arrows.  After  four  years  of  this  rus 
tication  I  was  brought  back  to  Boston,  when  I  was  unhappily 
seized  with  a  mania  for  experiments  in  chemistry,  involving  a 
lonely,  confined,  unwholesome  sort  of  life,  baneful  to  body  and 
mind." 


320  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

these  doubts  lie  entered  upon  a  training  tolerably  well 
fitted  to  serve  his  purpose,  slighted  all  college  studies 
which  could  not  promote  it,  and  pursued  with  avidity 
such  as  had  a  bearing  upon  it,  however  indirect.1 

"  The  task,  as  he  then  reckoned,  would  require  about 
twenty  years.  The  time  allowed  was  ample  ;  but  here  he 
fell  into  a  fatal  error,  entering  on  this  long  pilgrimage 
with  all  the  vehemence  of  one  starting  on  a  mile  heat. 
His  reliance,  however,  was  less  on  books  than  on  such 
personal  experience  as  should  in  some  sense  identify  him 
with  his  theme.  His  natural  inclinations  urged  him  in 
the  same  direction,  for  his  thoughts  were  always  in  the 
forests,  whose  features,  not  unmixed  with  softer  images, 
possessed  his  waking  and  sleeping  dreams,  filling  him 
with  vague  cravings  impossible  to  satisfy.  As  fond  of 
hardships  as  he  was  vain  of  enduring  them,  cherishing  a 
sovereign  scorn  for  every  physical  weakness  or  defect, 
deceived,  moreover,  by  a  rapid  development  of  frame  and 
sinews,  which  flattered  him  with  the  belief  that  discipline 
sufficiently  unsparing  would  harden  him  into  an  athlete, 
he  slighted  the  precautions  of  a  more  reasonable  wood 
craft,  tired  old  foresters  with  long  marches,  stopped 
neither  for  heat  nor  rain,  and  slept  on  the  earth  without 

1  In  the  second  paper  he  said :  "  Before  the  end  of  the  sopho 
more  year  my  various  schemes  had  crystallized  into  a  plan  of 
writing  a  story  of  what  was  then  known  as  the  '  Old  French  War,' 
—  that  is,  the  war  that  ended  in  the  conquest  of  Canada,  —  for  here, 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  the  forest  drama  was  more  stirring  and  the 
forest  stage  more  thronged  with  appropriate  actors  than  in  any 
other  passage  of  our  history.  It  was  not  till  some  years  later  that 
I  enlarged  the  plan  to  include  the  whole  course  of  the  American 
conflict  between  France  and  England,  or,  in  other  words,  the 
history  of  the  American  forest;  for  this  was  the  light  in  which 
I  regarded  it.  My  theme  fascinated  me,  and  I  was  haunted  with 
wilderness  images  day  and  night." 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  321 

a  blanket.1  Another  cause  added  not  a  little  to  the 
growing  evil.  It  was  impossible  that  conditions  of  the 
nervous  system  abnormal  as  his  had  been  from  infancy, 
should  be  without  their  effects  on  the  mind,  and  some 
of  these  were  of  a  nature  highly  to  exasperate  him.  Un 
conscious  of  their  character  and  origin,  and  ignorant 
that  with  time  and  confirmed  health  they  would  have 
disappeared,  he  had  no  other  thought  than  that  of  crush 
ing  them  by  force,  and  accordingly  applied  himself  to 
the  work.  Hence  resulted  a  state  of  mental  tension, 
habitual  for  several  years,  and  abundantly  mischievous 
in  its  effects.  With  a  mind  overstrained  and  a  body 
overtasked,  he  was  burning  his  caudle  at  both  ends. 

"But  if  a  systematic  and  steady  course  of  physical 
activity  can  show  no  better  result,  have  not  the  advan 
tages  of  such  a  course  been  overrated?  In  behalf  of  man 
hood  and  common  sense,  he  would  protest  against  such  a 
conclusion;  and  if  any  pale  student,  glued  to  his  desk 
here,  seek  an  apology  for  a  way  of  life  whose  natural  fruit 
is  that  pallid  and  emasculate  scholarship  of  which  New 
England  has  had  too  many  examples,  it  will  be  far  better 
that  this  sketch  had  not  been  written.  For  the  student 

1  Referring  to  this  period,  he  wrote  in  his  second  letter  to  Mr. 
Brimmer :  "  I  spent  all  my  summer  vacation  in  the  woods  or  in 
Canada,  at  the  same  time  reading  such  books  as  I  thought  suited, 
in  a  general  way,  to  help  me  towards  my  object.  I  pursued  these 
lucubrations  with  a  pernicious  intensity,  keeping  my  plans  and 
purposes  to  myself  while  passing  among  my  companions  as  an 
outspoken  fellow."  And  of  a  little  later  period,  when  in  the  Law 
School,  he  writes  :  "  Here,  while  following  the  prescribed  courses 
at  a  quiet  pace,  I  entered  in  earnest  on  two  other  courses,  one  of 
general  history,  the  other  of  Indian  history  and  ethnology,  and  at 
the  same  time  studied  diligently  the  models  of  English  style,  which 
various  pursuits  were  far  from  excluding  the  pleasures  of  society." 

21 


322  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS   PARKMAIST 

there  is,  in  its  season,  no  better  place  than  the  saddle, 
and  no  better  companion  than  the  rifle  or  the  oar.  A 
highly  irritable  organism  spurred  the  writer  to  excess  in  a 
course  which,  with  one  of  different  temperament,  would 
have  produced  a  free  and  hardy  development  of  such 
faculties  and  forces  as  he  possessed.  Nor,  even  in  the  case 
in  question,  was  the  evil  unmixed,  since  from  the  same 
source  whence  it  issued  came  also  the  habit  of  mind  and 
muscular  vigor  which  saved  him  from  a  ruin  absolute  and 
irremediable. 

"In  his  own  behalf,  he  is  tempted  to  add  to  this  digres 
sion  another.  Though  the  seat  of  derangement  may  be 
the  nervous  system,  it  does  not  of  necessity  follow  that  the 
subject  is  that  which,  in  the  common  sense  of  the  word,  is 
called  '  nervous.7  The  writer  was  now  and  then  felici 
tated  on  '  having  no  nerves '  by  those  who  thought  them 
selves  maltreated  by  that  mysterious  portion  of  human 
organism. 

"This  subterranean  character  of  the  mischief,  early 
declaring  itself  at  the  surface,  doubtless  increased  its 
intensity,  while  it  saved  it  from  being  a  nuisance  to  those 
around. 

"Of  the  time  when,  leaving  college,  he  entered  nominally 
on  the  study  of  law,  —  though  in  fact  with  the  determina 
tion  that  neither  this  nor  any  other  pursuit  should  stand 
in  the  path  of  his  projects,  —  his  recollection  is  of  mingled 
pain  and  pleasure.  His  faculties  were  stimulated  to  their 
best  efficiency.  Never,  before  or  since,  has  he  known  so 
great  a  facility  of  acquisition  and  comprehension.  Soon, 
however,  he  became  conscious  that  the  impelling  force  was 
growing  beyond  his  control.  Labor  became  a  passion, 
and  rest  intolerable,  yet  with  a  keen  appetite  for  social 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  323 

enjoyment,  in  which  he  found  not  only  a  pleasure,  but  in 
some  sense  a  repose.  The  stimulus  rapidly  increased. 
Despite  of  judgment  and  of  will,  his  mind  turned  con 
stantly  towards  remote  objects  of  pursuit,  and  strained 
vehemently  to  attain  them.  The  condition  was  that  of  a 
rider  whose  horse  runs  headlong,  the  bit  between  his  teeth, 
or  of  a  locomotive,  built  of  indifferent  material,  under  a 
head  of  steam  too  great  for  its  strength,  hissing  at  a  score 
of  crevices,  yet  rushing  on  with  accelerating  speed  to  the 
inevitable  smash. 

"  A  specific  sign  of  the  mischief  soon  appeared  in  a  weak 
ness  of  sight,  increasing  with  an  ominous  rapidity. 
Doubtless  to  study  with  the  eyes  of  another  is  practicable, 
yet  the  expedient  is  not  an  eligible  one,  and  the  writer 
bethought  him  of  an  alternative.  It  was  essential  to  his 
plans  to  give  an  inside  view  of  Indian  life.  This  then  was 
the  time  at  once  to  accomplish  the  object  and  rest  his  fail 
ing  vision.  Accordingly  he  went  to  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
but  he  had  reckoned  without  his  host.  A  complication  of 
severe  disorders  here  seized  him,  and  at  one  time  narrowly 
missed  bringing  both  him  and  his  schemes  to  an  abrupt 
termination,  but,  yielding  to  a  system  of  starvation,  at 
length  assumed  an  intermittent  and  much  less  threatening 
form.  A  concurrence  of  circumstances  left  him  but  one 
means  of  accomplishing  his  purpose.  This  was  to  follow 
a  large  band  of  Ogillallah  Indians,  known  to  have  crossed 
the  Black  Hill  range  a  short  time  before.  Reeling  in  the 
saddle  with  weakness  and  pain,  he  set  forth,  attended  by 
a  Canadian  hunter.  With  much  difficulty  the  trail  was 
found,  the  Black  Hills  crossed,  the  reluctance  of  his  fol 
lower  overcome,  and  the  Indians  discovered  on  the  fifth 
day  encamped  near  the  Medicine  Bow  range  of  the  Rocky 


324  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

Mountains.  On  a  journey  of  a  hundred  miles,  over  a 
country  in  parts  of  the  roughest,  he  had  gained  rather 
than  lost  strength,  while  his  horse  was  knocked  up  and  his 
companion  disconsolate  with  a  painful  cough.  Joining  the 
Indians,  he  followed  their  wanderings  for  several  weeks. 
To  have  worn  the  airs  of  an  invalid  would  certainly  have 
been  an  indiscretion,  since  in  that  case  a  horse,  a  rifle,  a 
pair  of  pistols,  and  a  red  shirt  might  have  offered  tempta 
tions  too  strong  for  aboriginal  virtue.  Yet  to  hunt 
buffalo  on  horseback,  over  a  broken  country,  when,  with 
out  the  tonic  of  the  chase,  he  could  scarcely  sit  upright  in 
the  saddle,  was  not  strictly  necessary  for  maintaining  the 
requisite  prestige.  The  sport,  however,  was  good,  and  the 
faith  undoubting  that,  to  tame  the  devil,  it  is  best  to  take 
him  by  the  horns. 

"  As  to  the  advantages  of  this  method  of  dealing  with 
that  subtle  personage,  some  question  may  have  arisen  in 
his  mind,  when,  returning  after  a  few  months  to  the  set 
tlements,  he  found  himself  in  a  condition  but  ill  adapted 
to  support  his  theory.  To  the  maladies  of  the  prairie 
succeeded  a  suite  of  exhausting  disorders,  so  reducing  him 
that  circulation  at  the  extremities  ceased,  the  light  of  the 
sun  became  insupportable,  and  a  wild  whirl  possessed  his 
brain,  joined  to  a  universal  turmoil  of  the  nervous  system 
which  put  his  philosophy  to  the  sharpest  test  it  had 
hitherto  known.  All  collapsed,  in  short,  but  the  tena 
cious  strength  of  muscles  hardened  by  long  activity. 
This  condition  was  progressive,  and  did  not  reach  its 
height  —  or,  to  speak  more  fitly,  its  depth  —  until  some 
eighteen  months  after  his  return.  The  prospect  before 
him  was  by  no  means  attractive,  contrasting  somewhat 
pointedly  with  his  boyish  fancy  of  a  life  of  action  and  a 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  325 

death  in  battle.  Indeed,  the  change  from  intense  activity 
to  flat  stagnation,  attended  with  an  utter  demolition  of 
air-castles,  may  claim  a  place,  not  of  the  meanest,  in  that 
legion  of  mental  tortures  which  make  the  torments  of  the 
Inferno  seem  endurable.  The  desire  was  intense  to  return 
to  the  prairie  and  try  a  hair  of  the  dog  that  bit  him  j  but 
this  kill-or-cure  expedient  was  debarred  by  the  certainty 
that  a  few  days'  exposure  to  the  open  sunlight  would 
have  destroyed  his  sight. 

"  In  the  spring  of  1848,  the  condition  indicated  being 
then  at  its  worst,  the  writer  resolved  to  attempt  the  com 
position  of  the  '  History  of  the  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac,' 
of  which  the  material  had  been  for  some  time  collected  and 
the  ground  prepared.  The  difficulty  was  so  near  to  the 
impossible  that  the  line  of  distinction  often  disappeared, 
while  medical  prescience  condemned  the  plan  as  a  short 
road  to  dire  calamities.  His  motive,  however,  was  in 
part  a  sanitary  one,  growing  out  of  a  conviction  that 
nothing  could  be  more  deadly  to  his  bodily  and  mental 
health  than  the  entire  absence  of  a  purpose  and  an  object. 
The  difficulties  were  threefold:  an  extreme  weakness  of 
sight,  disabling  him  even  from  writing  his  name  except 
with  eyes  closed:  a  condition  of  the  brain  prohibiting 
fixed  attention  except  at  occasional  and  brief  intervals; 
and  an  exhaustion  and  total  derangement  of  the  ner 
vous  system,  producing  of  necessity  a  mood  of  mind 
most  unfavorable  to  effort.  To  be  made  with  impu 
nity,  the  attempt  must  be  made  with  the  most  watchful 
caution. 

"  He  caused  a  wooden  frame  to  be  constructed  of  the 
size  and  shape  of  a  sheet  of  letter  paper.  Stout  wires 
were  fixed  horizontally  across  it,  half  an  inch  apart,  and 


326  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

a  movable  back  of  thick  pasteboard  fitted  behind  them. 
The  paper  for  writing  was  placed  between  the  pasteboard 
and  the  wires,  guided  by  which,  and  using  a  black  lead 
crayon,  he  could  write  not  illegibly  with  closed  eyes. 
He  was  at  the  time  absent  from  home,  on  Staten  Island, 
where,  and  in  the  neighboring  citj-  of  New  York,  he 
had  friends  who  willingly  offered  their  aid.  It  is  need 
less  to  say  to  which  half  of  humanity  nearly  all  these 
kind  assistants  belonged.  He  chose  for  a  beginning  that 
part  of  the  work  which  offered  fewest  difficulties  and  with 
the  subject  of  which  he  was  most  familiar,  namely  the 
Siege  of  Detroit.  The  books  and  documents,  already 
partially  arranged,  were  procured  from  Boston,  and  read 
to  him  at  such  times  as  he  could  listen  to  them,  the 
length  of  each  reading  never,  without  injury,  much  ex 
ceeding  half  an  hour,  and  periods  of  several  days  fre 
quently  occurring  during  which  he  could  not  listen  at 
all.  Notes  were  made  by  him  with  closed  eyes,  and 
afterwards  deciphered  and  read  to  him  till  he  had 
mastered  them.  For  the  first  half  year,  the  rate  of 
composition  averaged  about  six  lines  a  day.  The  por 
tion  of  the  book  thus  composed  was  afterwards  partially 
rewritten. 

"His  health  improved  under  the  process,  and  the  re 
mainder  of  the  volume  —  in  other  words,  nearly  the 
whole  of  it — was  composed  in  Boston,  while  pacing  in 
the  twilight  of  a  large  garret,  the  only  exercise  which 
the  sensitive  condition  of  his  sight  permitted  him  in  an 
unclouded  day  while  the  sun  was  above  the  horizon.  It 
was  afterwards  written  down  from  dictation  by  relatives 
under  the  same  roof,  to  whom  he  was  also  indebted  for 
the  preparatory  readings.  His  progress  was  much  less 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  327 

tedious  than  at  the  outset,  and  the  history  was  complete 
in  about  two  years  and  a  half. 

"He  then  entered  upon  the  subject  of  ' France  in  the 
New    World,'  —  a   work,    or    series    of    works,    involving 
minute    and    extended    investigation.      The    difficulties 
which  met  him  at  the  outset  were  incalculable.     Wholly 
unable  to  use  his  eyes,  he  had  before  him  the  task,  irk 
some  at  best  where  there   is   no  natural    inclination  for 
it,   of  tracing  out,   collecting,  indexing,    arranging,    and 
digesting  a  great  mass  of  incongruous  material  scattered 
on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.     Those  pursuing  historical 
studies  under  the  disadvantages  of   impaired  sight  have 
not  hitherto  attempted  in  person  this  kind  of  work  dur 
ing  the  period  of   their  disability,   but  have    deputed  it 
to  skilled  and  trusty  assistants,  —  a  most  wise  course  in 
cases  where  it  is  practicable.    The  writer,  however,  partly 
from  the  nature  of  his  subject  and  his  plan,   though  in 
special  instances  receiving  very  valuable  aid,  was  forced 
in  the  main  to  rely  on  his  own  research.     The  language 
was   chiefly  French,  and  the  reader  was  a  girl  from   the 
public  schools,  ignorant  of  any  tongue  but  her  own.     The 
effect,    though    highly   amusing   to   bystanders,    was   far 
from   being  so  to  the    person    endeavoring  to  follow   the 
meaning  of  this    singular   jargon.     Catalogues,    indexes, 
tables    of  contents    in   abundance   were,    however,    read, 
and   correspondence    opened  with   those  who   could  lend 
aid  or  information.      Good  progress  had   been   made    in 
the  preliminary  surveys,  and  many  books   examined  and 
digested  on  a  systematic  plan  for  future  reference,  when 
a  disaster  befell  the  writer  which  set  his  calculations  at 
naught. 

"  This  was  an  effusion  of  water  on  the  left  knee,  in  the 


A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAIST 

autumn  of  1851.     A  partial  recovery  was  followed  by  a 
relapse,   involving  a  close  confinement  of  two  years  and 
a  weakened   and  sensitive    condition    of   the    joint   from 
which  it  has  never  recovered.     The  effects  of  the  confine 
ment  were  as  curious  as  unenviable.     All  the  irritability 
of  the    system    centred  in  the  head.     The    most   definite 
of  the  effects  produced  was   one  closely   resembling  the 
tension  of  an  iron  band,  secured  round  the  head  and  con 
tracting  with  an  extreme  force,  with  the  attempt  to  con 
centrate  the  thoughts,  listen  to  reading,   or  at  times  to 
engage  in  conversation.      This  was,    however,   endurable 
in  comparison  with  other  forms  of   attack  which  cannot 
be    intelligibly    described   from   the   want   of    analogous 
sensations  by  which  to  convey  the  requisite  impressions. 
The  brain  was  stimulated  to  a  restless  activity,  impelling 
through  it  a  headlong  current  of  thought  which,  however, 
must  be  arrested  and  the  irritated   organ   held  in  quies 
cence  on  a  penalty  to  avert  which  no  degree  of  exertion 
was   too  costly.     The   whirl,   the   confusion,   and  strange 
undefined  torture  attending  this  condition  are  only  to  be 
conceived  by  one  who  has  felt  them.     Possibly  they  may 
have  analogies   in   the   savage    punishment    once    in   use 
in  some  of  our  prisons,  where  drops  of  water  were  made 
to  fall  from  a  height  on  the  shaved  head  of  the  offender, 
soon   producing   an    effect  which   brought    to   reason  the 
most  contumacious.     Sleep,  of  course,  was  banished  dur 
ing  the  periods  of  attack,  and  in  its  place  was  demanded, 
for  the  exclusion  of  thought,  an  effort  more  severe  than 
the  writer  has  ever  put  forth  in  any  other  cause.     In  a 
few   hours,    however,    a    condition    of    exhaustion    would 
ensue;   and,   both  patient   and   disease  being  spent,    tho 
latter  fell  into  a  dull   lethargic  stage  far  more  support' 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  329 

able.  Excitement  or  alarm  would  probably  have  proved 
wholly  ruinous. 

"  These  were  the  extreme  conditions  of  the  disorder 
which  has  reached  two  crises,  —  one  at  the  end  of  1853, 
the  other  in  1858.  In  the  latter  case  it  was  about  four 
years  before  the  power  of  mental  application  was  in  the 
smallest  degree  restored,  nor,  since  the  first  year  of  the 
confinement  has  there  been  any  waking  hour  when  he  has 
not  been  in  some  degree  conscious  of  the  presence  of  the 
malady.  Influences  tending  to  depress  the  mind  have  at 
all  times  proved  far  less  injurious  than  those  tending  to 
excite,  or  even  pleasurably  exhilarate,  and  a  lively  con 
versation  has  often  been  a  cause  of  serious  mischief.  A 
cautious  vigilance  has  been  necessary  from  the  first,  and 
this  cerebral  devil  has  perhaps  had  his  uses  as  a  teacher 
of  philosophy. 

"  Meanwhile  the  Faculty  of  Medicine  were  not  idle,  dis 
play  ing  that  exuberance  of  resource  for  which  that  remark 
able  profession  is  justly  famed.  The  wisest,  indeed,  did 
nothing,  commending  his  patient  to  time  and  faith  ;  but 
the  activity  of  his  brethren  made  full  amends  for  this 
masterly  inaction.  One  was  for  tonics,  another  for  a  diet 
of  milk,  one  counselled  galvanism,  another  hydropathy  ; 
one  scarred  him  behind  the  neck  with  nitric  acid,  another 
drew  red-hot  irons  along  his  spine  with  a  view  of  enliven 
ing  that  organ.  Opinion  was  divergent  as  practice.  One 
assured  him  of  recovery  in  six  years;  another  thought 
that  he  would  never  recover.  Another,  with  grave  cir 
cumlocution,  lest  the  patient  should  take  fright,  informed 
him  that  he  was  the  victim  of  an  organic  disease  of  the 
brain,  which  must  needs  despatch  him  to  another  world 
within  a  twelvemonth;  and  he  stood  amazed  a?t  the  smile 


330  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAST 

of  an  auditor  who  neither  cared  for  the  announcement  nor 
believed  it.  Another,  an  eminent  physiologist  of  Paris, 
after  an  acquaintance  of  three  months,  one  day  told  him 
that,  from  the  nature  of  the  disorder,  he  had  at  first  sup 
posed  that  it  must  in  accordance  with  precedent  be  at 
tended  with  insanity,  and  had  ever  since  been  studying 
him  to  discover  under  what  form  the  supposed  aberration 
declared  itself,  adding,  with  a  somewhat  humorous  look, 
that  his  researches  had  not  been  rewarded  with  the  small 
est  success. 

"  In  the  severer  periods  of  the  disorder,  books  were  dis 
carded  for  horticulture,  which  benign  pursuit  has  proved 
most  salutary  in  its  influences.  One  year,  four  years, 
and  numerous  short  intervals,  lasting  from  a  day  to  a 
month,  represent  these  literary  interruptions  since  the 
work  in  hand  was  begun.  Under  the  most  favorable  con 
ditions,  it  was  a  slow  and  doubtful  navigation,  beset  with 
reefs  and  breakers,  demanding  a  constant  look-out  and  a 
constant  throwing  of  the  lead.  Of  late  years,  however, 
the  condition  of  the  sight  has  so  far  improved  as  to  per 
mit  reading,  not  exceeding,  on  the  average,  five  minutes 
at  one  time.  This  modicum  of  power,  though  apparently 
trifling,  proved  of  the  greatest  service,  since,  by  a  cau 
tious  management,  its  application  may  be  extended.  By 
reading  for  one  minute,  and  then  resting  for  an  equal 
time,  this  alternate  process  may  generally  be  continued 
for  about  half  an  hour.  Then,  after  a  sufficient  interval, 
it  may  be  repeated,  often  three  or  four  times  in  the  course 
of  the  day.  By  this  means  nearly  the  whole  of  the  vol 
ume  now  offered  has  been  composed.  When  the  con 
ditions  were  such  as  to  render  systematic  application 
possible,  a  reader  has  been  employed,  usually  a  pupil  of 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  331 

the  public  schools.  On  one  occasion,  however,  the  ser 
vices  of  a  young  man,  highly  intelligent,  and  an  excellent 
linguist,  were  obtained  for  a  short  time.  With  such  as 
sistance  every  difficulty  vanished,  but  it  could  not  long 
be  continued. 

"At  present  the  work,  or  rather  the  series  of  separate 
works,  stands  as  follows :  Most  of  the  material  is  collected 
or  within  reach.  Another  volume,  on  the  Jesuits  in  North 
America,  is  one-third  written.  Another,  on  the  French 
Explorers  of  the  Great  West,  is  half  written ;  while  a 
third,  devoted  to  the  checkered  career  of  Louis  de  Buade, 
Comte  de  Frontenac,  is  partially  arranged  for  composition. 
Each  work  is  designed  to  be  a  unit  in  itself,  independently 
of  the  rest ;  but  the  whole,  taken  as  a  series,  will  form  a 
connected  history  of  France  in  the  New  World.1 

"How  far,  by  a  process  combining  the  slowness  of  the 
tortoise  with  the  uncertainty  of  the  hare,  an  undertaking 
of  close  and  extended  research  can  be  advanced,  is  a  ques 
tion  to  solve  which  there  is  no  aid  from  precedent,  since 
it  does  not  appear  that  an  attempt  under  similar  circum 
stances  has  hitherto  been  made.  The  writer  looks,  how 
ever,  for  a  fair  degree  of  success.2 

1  In  the  second  letter  he  said  :   «  While  engaged  on  these  books, 
I  made  many  journeys  in  the  United  States  and  Canada  in  search  of 
material,  and  went  four  times  to  Europe  with  a  similar  object.    The 
task  of  exploring  archives  and  collecting  documents,  to  me  repul 
sive  at  the  best,  was  under  the  circumstances  difficult,  and  would 
have  been  impossible  but  for  the  aid  of  competent  assistants  work 
ing  under  my  direction." 

2  In  writing  his  second  letter  he  said :  "  Taking  the  last  forty 
years  as  a  whole,  the  capacity  of  literary  work,  which  during  that 
time  has  fallen  to  my  share  has,  I  am  confident,  been  considerably 
less  than  a  fourth  part  of  what  it  would  have  been  under  normal 
conditions." 


332  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

"  Irksome  as  may  be  the  requirements  of  conditions  so 
anomalous,  they  are  far  less  oppressive  than  the  necessity 
they  involve  of  being  busied  with  the  past  when  the  pres 
ent  has  claims  so  urgent,  and  holding  the  pen  with  a  hand 
that  should  have  grasped  the  sword." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

PARKMAN'S  spiritual  growth  is  naturally  the  most 
interesting  element  of  his  biography,  but  it  is  also 
the  most  obscure.  In  attempting  to  follow  it  we 
can  see  some  of  his  dangers,  arising  from  the  defects 
of  his  qualities  and  the  demands  of  his  labor  and 
experience;  but  we  cannot  so  easily  follow  the 
aspirations  of  his  reserved  nature,  or  the  efforts  and 
influences  by  which  he  brought  his  character  to  its 
mellow  maturity. 

His  promontory  of  a  chin  and  his  expression  of 
firmness  might  well  cause  some  apprehensions  as  to 
spiritual  qualities.  He  appears  to  have  recognized  a 
danger  in  his  own  strength  and  firmness,  as  tending 
to  a  certain  degree  of  hardness.  It  is  easy  to  believe 
that  this  masterful  spirit  in  early  and  middle  life  was 
not  free  from  egotism,  —  a  defect  which  met  with 
little,  if  any,  opposition  from  the  devoted  women 
about  him.  For  his  very  egotism  was  always  consid 
erate,  and,  in  spite  of  invalidism,  free  from  the  pursuit 
of  personal  comforts;  singularly  enough,  it  was  a 
means  of  attaining  the  aims  of  the  self-sacrificing 
scholar. 

One  of  the  strongest  opponents  of  his  growth  was 
an  innate  conservatism.  In  many  ways,  despite  his 


334  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAff 

volcanic  warmth  and  energy,  he  was  unchangeable  as 
the  hills.  Independence  and  reserve  often  joined 
hands  in  him,  He  said  of  Montcalm :  "  A  courage  so 
nobly  sustained  lifts  him  above  pity;  "  and  he  himself 
asked  no  pity.  His  engagement  and  marriage  sur 
prised  many  of  his  friends  —  as  an  admission  of  sen 
timent  as  a  rival  to  ambition.  He  never  gave  himself 
out,  intimately,  to  any  one,  though  receiving  confi 
dences  with  genuine  interest.  Thus  human  sympathy 
does  not  seem,  at  a  casual  glance,  to  have  been  an 
important  source  of  his  spiritual  riches.  A  charac 
teristic  incident  may  be  given  as  an  evidence  of  his 
extreme  reserve  in  regard  to  private  matters.  When 
he  and  his  devoted  sister  Eliza  discussed  the  dedica 
tion  of  one  of  his  volumes  to  her,  they  both  concluded 
that  they  did  not  wish  to  make  such  a  revelation  of 
their  affection  to  the  public.  As  far  as  we  can  judge, 
his  worth  and  charm  attracted  more  affection  than  he 
expressed  in  return,  —  so  self-sustaining  a  nature 
could  not  feel  the  dependent  kind  of  affection.  He 
never  regarded  death  or  any  other  event  as  a  dispen 
sation  of  Providence,  or  attached  to  it  any  degree  of 
mysticism  or  fatality.  When  his  son  died,  and  some 
one  said:  "He  was  too  good  to  live,"  Parkman  cor 
rected  at  once  any  such  misinterpretation  of  life,  by 
saying  that  such  an  idea  is  true  of  no  one ;  that  the 
world  needs  the  best,  and  the  best  can  always  find  a 
place  in  it.  Again,  at  the  death  of  his  wife  when  a 
sympathetic  friend  assumed  that  life  had  no  longer 
any  interest  for  him,  he  promptly  dispelled  any  such 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  335 

gloomy  conception.  His  patience  never  included 
either  personal  discouragement,  fretful  rebellion,  or 
passive  surrender  to  the  guidance  of  supernatural 
powers.  He  said:  "A  man  must  feel  that  he  holds 
his  fate  in  his  own  hands."  And  since  we  have  to 
take  men  and  things  as  they  are,  it  would  be  difficult 
to  find  a  philosophy  better  fitted  to  the  man,  or  a  man 
better  fitted  to  his  experience.  He  often  had  to  face 
prospects  that  would  have  daunted  many  a  man  of 
less  firmness  and  more  sentiment.  In  1859,  for  ex 
ample,  he  was  in  one  of  the  "  dismallest  dens  on  earth." 
The  previous  autumn  he  had  gone  to  Paris  for  relief 
to  his  spirits  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  and  for  med 
ical  help  against  his  maladies,  which  were  then  very 
threatening.  He  returned  in  no  better  health,  to 
what  would  have  been  a  cheerless  hearth  but  for  the 
devotion  of  his  mother  and  sisters.  The  bright 
visions,  the  adventures,  the  sunshine  and  freedom 
that  had  appeared  inseparable  from  the  energetic 
youth,  were  now  replaced  by  very  different  elements 
of  life.  Shut  up  in  his  darkened  study,  threatened 
with  total  blindness,  he  led  at  this  time  a  life  of 
monastic  solitude ;  in  place  of  enjoying  buoyant  activ 
ity  he  sat  down  to  the  endurance  of  pain ;  his  ambition 
was  met  either  by  absolute  inability  to  work,  or  by 
exasperating  interruptions  and  petty  achievements; 
worst  of  all,  he  was  in  danger  of  insanity.  The 
enemy  lay  ambushed  in  the  darkest  possibilities ;  and 
how  pitilessly  must  these  have  pressed  upon  him  in 
the  weakest  moments !  Yet  undoubtedly  he  stated  his 


336  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

own  philosophy  in  giving  Vassall  Morton's:  "Blows 
are  good  for  most  men,  and  suffering,  to  the  farthest 
limit  of  their  endurance  what  they  most  need. " *  True, 
there  were  times  when  his  "  faith  was  wrenched  to  its 
uttermost  roots.  He  thought  the  world  was  given 
over  to  the  devil."2 

All  this  is  too  much  to  contemplate ;  but  it  was  not 
too  much  for  Parkman  to  endure.  There  is  little  won 
der  that  he  set  down  his  feeling  in  the  following  de 
scription  of  the  rock  off  Schooner  Head,  Mount  Desert, 
when  on  a  visit  to  his  classmate,  Mr.  George  S.  Hale, 
in  1871:  "Under  a  leaden  sky  the  island  rocks  rest 
sombre  and  cold  upon  the  leaden  water,  as  strong  men, 
under  the  clouds  of  a  dreary  destiny,  bide  their  hour 
in  still  and  stern  endurance."  The  inherent  nobility 
of  his  nature,  however,  and  his  ideals,  were  too  lofty 
to  allow  such  a  spirit  permanent  control  of  his  life.  In 
"Vassall  Morton,"  he  made  Edith  say  of  the  hero:  3 

"It  was  a  bitter  schooling,  a  long  siege,  and  a  dreary 
one;  but  you  have  triumphed,  and  you  wear  its  trophy,  — 
the  heroic  calm,  the  mind  tranquil  with  consciousness  of 
power.  You  have  wrung  a  proud  tribute  out  of  sorrow; 
but  has  it  yielded  you  all  its  treasure?  Could  you  but 
have  learned  that  gentler,  deeper,  higher  philosophy 
which  builds  for  itself  a  temple  out  of  ruin,  and  makes 
weakness  invincible  with  binding  its  tendrils  to  the 
rock." 

Yet,  with  his  New  England  conscience  and  training, 
he  may  have  overestimated  his  defects,  and  charged 
a  tendency  with  being  an  actual  condition. 

i  P.  405.  2  P.  414.  s  P.  383. 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  337 

&• 
The  details  of  Parkman's  home  life  were  known  to 

me  during  only  his  last  years,  but  for  the  sake  of  com 
pleteness  I  must  give  what  I  can  of  the  preceding 
epochs  in  their  bearing  on  his  spiritual  growth.  His 
married  life  of  eight  years,  though  marked  by  many 
severe  trials,  was  happy  with  mutual  affection  and  de 
votion.  Mrs.  Parkman  was  a  woman  of  excellent  under 
standing,  a  cheerful  disposition,  more  practical  than 
intellectual,  bright  in  conversation,  with  a  sense  of 
humor  to  match  his  own,  and  a  large  fund  of  affec 
tion.  The  twelve  years  after  her  death  were  the  most 
trying  period  of  Parkman's  life.  It  was  then  that  he 
suffered  most  from  pain  and  anxiety,  from  his  exag 
gerated  reserve,  and  from  the  effects  of  self-centred 
efforts  to  drive  on  his  work.  As  his  need  of  quiet 
kept  him  generally  in  his  study,  his  isolation  was  due 
chiefly  to  nervous  and  physical  conditions.  His 
domestic  relations  were  never  marked  by  any  cold 
ness  or  constraint;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  always 
cordial,  kindly,  and  considerate.  But  some  of  their 
friends,  who  considered  the  inner  life,  felt  that 
although  he  lived  happily  with  his  family  he  was  not 
of  them  in  the  most  intimate  sense ;  and  that  for  a 
time  he  did  not  appreciate  fully  and  responsively  their 
sympathy  and  devotion. 

His  mother  died  in  1871 ;  Parkman  wrote  of 
the  event  in  these  terms :  "  Last  week  my  mother's 
long  and  painful  illness  was  calmly  and  peacefully 
ended,  and  a  life  of  rare  affection,  disinterestedness, 
and  self-devotion  came  to  its  close  on  earth."  When 

22 


338  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

on  the  death  of  their  mother  his  sister  Eliza  was  able 
to  devote  herself  thenceforth  wholly  to  him,  her  inti- 
*mate  friends  were  concerned  for  her  happiness  because 
of  his  absorption  in  his  work. 

A  word  may  be  said  here  about  his  relations  to  his 
women  friends.  There  are  few,  if  any,  literary  men 
who  were  so  dependent  on  women,  or  who  received 
so  much  affectionate  service  at  their  hands.  Only 
Wordsworth  approached  him  in  this  respect.  With 
all  his  self-sustaining  power,  Parkman  was  very  sen 
sitive  to  their  influence.  It  could  hardly  be  other 
wise  with  a  man  possessing  so  much  imagination, 
sensibility,  and  virility.  Although  he  cherished  his 
men  friends  and  talked  with  them  freely  on  some 
topics,  he  never  could  give  himself  to  any  of  them 
so  well  as  he  could  to  a  congenial  woman.  He  made 
Vassall  Morton  say  of  himself  (p.  358):  "Find  me  a 
woman  of  sense,  with  a  brain  to  discern,  a  heart  to 
feel,  passion  to  feel  vehemently,  and  principles  to  feel 
rightly,  and  I  will  show  her  my  mind;  or,  if  not,  I 
will  show  it  to  no  one." 

Besides  these  qualities  he  desired  a  woman  to  be 
strong  and  healthy,  bright  in  conversation,  and  full 
of  feminine  and  maternal  instincts.  He  did  not 
care  for  intellectual  tendencies ;  he  even  detested  the 
complexities  of  the  "cultured  and  refined"  type. 
What  he  desired  of  women  was  not  inspiration  in 
regard  to  serious  interests,  but  recreation  and  amuse 
ment.  His  keenest  social  pleasures  came  from  his 
friendships  with  women ;  and  one  of  his  hardest  trials 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  339 

was  the  limitation  of  such  intercourse  by  reason  of 
his  maladies.  He  in  turn  attracted  women  by  many 
qualities,  —  his  gallant  and  chivalrous  temper,  his 
frankness  and  love  of  fun,  and  his  loyalty.  As  a 
friend  he  listened  with  sympathy  and  quick  percep 
tions,  ever  exercising  a  steadying  influence  by  his 
wise  and  practical  counsel.  One  of  the  marked  feat 
ures  of  his  later  life  was  its  richness  in  the  affec 
tionate  friendship  of  fine  women.  He  reaped  this 
reward  in  some  cases  even  from  strangers  who  knew 
him  only  through  his  histories. 

Parkman  was  remarkably  fortunate  in  the  assistance 
of  the  women  in  his  own  domestic  circle.  His  life 
was  by  no  means  wholly  in  shadow,  for  during  the 
fifty  years  of  his  work  he  was  never  without  all  the 
help  that  affection  could  give.  Some  one  of  the 
family  circle  was  always  at  hand  to  read  or  write  for 
him,  and  he  was  relieved  to  a  remarkable  degree  from 
ordinary  family  cares.  Those  who  thus  helped  him 
needed  and  possessed  exceptional  tact,  intelligence, 
and  devotion  to  meet  the  circumstances.  For  his 
needs  were  so  imperative  and  his  condition  was  so 
fluctuating  that  only  members  of  his  household,  close 
at  hand  and  close  at  heart,  could  give  him  the  neces 
sary  help.  And  while  he  inspired  an  affection  that 
made  such  devotion  no  sacrifice,  he  was  ever  gener 
ous  in  acknowledging  his  indebtedness  to  them.  The 
helpful  friendship  that  Miss  Parkman  bestowed  on 
her  brother  is  not  often  to  be  matched  in  literary  his 
tory  ;  and  his  success  was  due  in  a  large  measure  to 


340  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

her  services  and  sympathy.  At  the  time  of  their 
junction  in  domestic  life,  her  friends  felt  that  she 
was  somewhat  alone  in  her  patient  devotion.  But  in 
spite  of  some  elements  of  his  puritan  nature,  they 
were  closely  united  by  many  traits  of  character,  - 
by  their  conservative  opinions,  common  literary  in 
terests,  and  a  love  of  simplicity,  decorum,  and  cheer 
fulness;  as  the  years  passed,  Parkman's  growth  in 
sympathy  brought  them  nearer  to  each  other;  and 
finally  their  happiness  together  was  a  joint  reward 
for  two  lives  of  exceptional  experiences. 

His  brother  Eliot,  during  his  infrequent  sojourns 
at  home,  made  the  domestic  atmosphere  sunny  with 
abundant  humor  and  vivacity.  In  a  letter,  Jan.  11, 
1872,  Parkman  thus  refers  to  his  life  and  character: 

"  A  telegram  from  Commodore  Stembel,  U.  S.  N.,  says 
that  my  only  brother,  a  lieutenant  in  the  navy,  had  died 
suddenly  at  San  Francisco  from  the  effects  of  a  fall.  His 
body  arrived  last  evening.  After  passing  a  thousand 
risks  in  travel  and  in  war,  he  died  at  last  by  what  seemed 
a  trivial  accident,  but  which  involved  the  rupture  of  an 
internal  artery.  He  was  of  a  most  affectionate  and  gen 
erous  nature,  and  the  strongest  family  attachments. " 

Parkman  was  a  little  above  medium  height,  of  an 
erect,  well-built  frame,  with  square  shoulders  and 
good  muscular  development,  but  spare  and  sinewy  in 
habit.  Only  in  his  last  year  or  two  did  he  allow 
himself  to  grow  stout,  following  his  physician's  rec 
ommendation  in  the  hope  of  thus  becoming  less  ner- 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  341 

vous  and  sleepless.  On  horseback,  especially,  he  was 
a  dashing  and  martial  figure.  He  had  dark  hair,  and 
a  wholesome  color  quite  foreign  to  the  traditional 
pallor  of  the  student.  His  head  and  features  were 
somewhat  angular,  with  a  chin  of  most  exceptional 
prominence  and  strength.  His  gray,  penetrating 
eyes  were,  in  youth,  of  good  size,  but  in  later  years 
they  seemed  smaller  because  of  chronic  inflammation 
of  the  lids.  He  had  firm,  good-sized  hands  with 
square  finger-tips.  His  thin  face,  always  smooth- 
shaven,  generally  wore  a  grave,  thoughtful  expression, 
but  frank  and  friendly:  strength  and  alertness  com 
bined  with  kindliness  to  give  it  distinction.  His 
mouth,  though  expressive  chiefly  of  inflexible  firm 
ness,  was  very  mobile.  His  smile  was  often  re 
marked  for  its  expressiveness ;  it  reminded  me  always 
of  these  traits  of  Morton :  "  the  heroic  calm,  the  mind 
tranquil  with  consciousness  of  power."1  Parkman's 
smile  expressed  a  full  consciousness  of  his  strength 
and  victory  in  life;  and  it  often  had  a  very  clear 
address  to  you  by  the  penetrating  look  he  sent  for 
a  moment  into  your  eyes.  Or,  at  other  times,  it 
showed  an  instant  of  absence  —  a  turn  through  far 
realms  of  thought;  it  captured  your  fancy  with  a 
vision  of  genial  companionship  on  some  unknown 
quest.  His  laughter  was  hardly  audible,  though  it 
was  hearty ;  showing  itself  chiefly  by  shaking  sides 
and  subdued  or  repressed  sounds.  His  speaking 
voice  was  low  and  his  pronunciation  clear, 
i  P.  38a 


342  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

His  appearance  was  full  of  distinction ;  but  it  shone 
through  a  very  quiet,  unobtrusive  manner.  There 
was  in  him  much  of  the  colonial  gentleman,  but 
softened  and  unbent.  Eccentricity  he  hated,  and  he 
enjoyed  the  conventional  proprieties  of  society  in  his 
native  city.  Though  not  fastidious,  he  was  always 
neatly  dressed,  in  good  London-made  clothes,  which 
he  wore  out  thoroughly.  In  coming  to  greet  you  he 
advanced  with  an  erect  bearing  and  quick,  firm  step, 
took  your  hand  firmly  and  gave  it  a  good  but  not 
demonstrative  shake ;  meanwhile  looking  you  in  the 
eye  for  a  moment  with  a  penetrating,  frank,  and  cor 
dial  expression.  Even  when  he  came  on  his  crutches 
he  brought  a  manly,  cheering  presence.  There  was 
absolutely  nothing  of  the  morbid  invalid  about  him; 
nor  any  hint  of  the  assumptions  of  learning  and  fame. 
In  full  maturity  his  modesty,  simplicity,  frankness, 
gentleness,  and  patience  were  given  an  additional 
charm  by  the  sympathy  with  which  he  met  his  friends. 
His  modesty  was  not  the  modesty  of  na'ivete'  or 
humility.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  always,  in  a  quiet 
way,  a  masterful  rather  than  a  humble  spirit.  He 
held  his  virtues  by  a  firmer  grasp  than  unconscious 
possession.  With  an  unusual  knowledge  of  himself, 
he  placed  the  highest  value  on  his  qualities  as  means 
for  achievement  and  the  growth  of  character. 

Parkman's  homes  were  perfectly  suited  to  his  tastes 
and  needs.  In  winter  he  preferred  to  live  in  Boston, 
with  his  sister,  at  50  Chestnut  Street;  in  spite  of 
his  love  of  nature,  he  never  passed  a  winter  in  the 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  343 

country.  This  street,  in  the  centre  of  Boston  and 
very  near  the  Common,  is  yet  a  quiet,  secluded  quar 
ter,  attractive  with  trees  and  old-fashioned  houses. 
The  Parkman  home  is  a  twilight  house  of  subdued 
colors,  simply  furnished  with  heirlooms,  and  full  of 
the  peace  and  comfort  derived  from  good  housekeep 
ing  and  a  quiet  spirit.  During  the  last  years  of  his 
life,  when  his  lameness  was  very  troublesome,  he 
mounted  to  his  study  on  the  third  floor  by  an  elevator 
which  he  could  operate  by  the  power  of  his  own  arms. 
The  room  had  a  subdued  light  from  two  windows 
facing  the  north.  An  open  stove  with  a  soft-coal  fire 
cast  a  glow  into  the  shadows ;  two  of  the  walls  were 
covered  with  bookshelves,  the  others  with  engraved 
portraits  of  historic  persons.  On  the  mantel  stood 
some  of  Barye's  statuettes  of  animals,  and  on  the  wall 
were  a  few  Indian  relics  he  had  brought  from  the 
Oregon  Trail.  The  simplicity  of  his  tastes  and  the 
practicality  of  his  mind  were  shown  in  this  study:  it 
was  simply  a  writer's  workshop,  without  any  luxu 
rious  or  ornamental  appointment.  He  did  not  approve 
of  large  collections  of  books  in  private  houses,  because 
of  the  trouble  they  give,  and  because  such  sources  of 
information  should  be  accessible  to  students,  in  public 
libraries.  His  collection  consisted  of  about  twenty- 
five  hundred  volumes,  which  he  bequeathed  to  Har 
vard  College ;  some  of  these  were  inherited  from  his 
father.  The  chief  feature  of  his  library  was  his  col 
lection  of  manuscripts,  which  far  outweighed  in  value 
all  the  other  works.  Next  in  importance  was  a  col- 


344  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

lection  of  eighty-nine  maps,  and  about  fifteen  hundred 
works  relating  chiefly  to  his  historic  labors.  All  these 
are  now  kept  together  in  Harvard  College  library  as 
the  "Parkman  Collection."  There  are  almost  no 
notes  on  the  margins ;  in  a  very  few  books  he  made 
now  and  then  a  mark  or  sign  that  was  a  sufficient  aid 
to  his  exceptional  memory.  His  contempt  for 
"pallid  and  emasculate  scholarship"  is  the  key  to  his 
feeling  for  books  and  bookworms.  A  man  of  nature 
and  of  life  rather  than  a  man  of  books,  he  had  no 
interest  in  fine  bindings,  costly  editions,  or  rare 
works  aside  from  their  contents. 

We  have  seen  that  during  his  early  and  middle  life 
he  met  his  trials  with  "stern  and  silent  endurance." 
From  the  earliest  of  his  married  life  onward  till  near 
the  close,  the  condition  of  his  brain  seemed  to  make  it 
necessary  for  him  to  be  silent  and  alone  most  of  the 
time.  But  as  years  rolled  on,  the  improvement  in  his 
health,  the  easier  progress  of  his  labor,  and  the  devel 
opment  of  his  sympathy  enabled  him  at  last  to  meet 
life  with  happier  moods  and  habits.  Fortunately  he 
was  not  a  man  of  moods,  but  one  who  had  in  him  a 
wellspring  of  cheerfulness  that  rarely  ceased  to  flow. 
This  virtue  had  exceptional  value  in  his  case,  because 
of  his  inherited  affection  of  the  brain;  and  he  was 
fortunate  in  early  coming  to  the  belief  that  insanity 
often  begins  in  moods  and  mental  conditions  that  at 
the  beginning  can  be  avoided. 

Parkman  nourished  his  cheerfulness  in  the  most 
practical  way.  His  native  energy  here  served  him 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  345 

efficiently,  aiding  him  in  bringing  forward  a  keen 
sense  of  humor  which  one  would  hardly  expect  in 
looking  at  his  grave,  strong  face.  He  and  his  chief 
ally,  his  sister,  thus  armed  themselves  with  rays  of 
sunshine.  The  problem  they  had  to  meet  was  to 
relieve  his  brain  by  some  lightsome  activity,  avoiding 
both  serious  topics  of  conversation  and  gloomy 
silence.  In  such  efforts  he  acquired  the  happy 
faculty  of  making  much  of  little  things,  and  casting 
into  the  commonplace  events  and  talks  of  the  day  a 
pervading  spirit  of  jocoseness  which  at  last  became 
more  or  less  habitual  in  the  domestic  circle.  His 
sense  of  humor  had  its  freest  play  in  simple,  objec 
tive,  childlike  things ;  it  rarely  reached  the  fine  point 
of  wit,  or  entered  into  the  delicate  play  of  psycho 
logic  elements.  For  example,  he  was  presented  by 
one  of  his  granddaughters,  on  Christmas,  with  a 
badge  in  the  form  of  a  cat,  cut  out  of  a  piece  of 
yellow  flannel.  For  many  years  when  he  visited  the 
family  he  invariably  produced  this  cat  with  certain 
miaulings,  and  stories  of  her  wanderings  during  the 
preceding  year.  He  had  also,  for  similar  amuse 
ment,  an  Uncle  John  Frog  and  a  turtle.  He  liked 
to  hear  his  brother-in-law,  Rev.  Dr.  Cordner,  an 
Irish  gentleman,  read  Irish  ballads;  and  when  his 
nieces  entered  the  room  he  often  thrummed  Rory 
O'More  as  a  silent  greeting  and  banter. 

As  still  further  aid  he  called  into  service  two  facul 
ties  that  were  already  highly  developed  by  his  literary- 
labors  —  imagination,  and  skill  in  narration.  One  of 


346  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  chief  elements  of  his  domestic  intercourse  came 
to  be  humorous  romancing.  At  breakfast,  after 
replying  briefly  to  inquiries  as  to  his  health,  he  would 
begin  a  tale  and  carry  it  on  throughout  the  meal,  and 
even  continue  it  from  day  to  day.  He  whiled  away 
the  time  in  the  same  way  when  driving  about  the 
country.  The  chief  characteristic  of  these  stories 
was  a  jocose  exaggeration.  Any  subject  would 
serve ;  now  he  would  reconstruct  a  character  of  some 
novel ;  or  would  take  a  name  on  a  sign  as  the  starting 
point,  and  carry  the  imaginary  owner  through  various 
experiences  more  or  less  impossible.  He  married  off 
his  daughters  to  persons  they  detested,  and  then 
teased  them  with  making  such  unwise  selections. 
Frequently  he  chose  subjects  more  or  less  theologi 
cal  :  he  invented  a  minister  in  Florida  who  was  so  ill 
supported  by  his  congregation  that  he  had  to  eat 
crocodile  eggs,  which  turned  him  into  an  amphibi 
ous  divine;  and  a  Miss  Simpkins,  who  conducted 
a  Sunday  School  for  young  demons;  as  her  pupils 
were  rather  restless,  she  passed  their  tails  through 
holes  in  the  bench,  and  tied  knots  underneath.  Or 
he  would  now  and  then  take  up  one  of  the  Prophets, 
and  give  him  a  character  and  history  hardly  in  accord 
with  Biblical  traditions.  Another  string  to  his  bow 
was  humorous  verse.  During  sleepless  hours  he  often 
composed  parodies;  one  was  on  the  "Psalm  of  Life  " 
—  cats  being  the  heroes.  At  breakfast  he  would 
often  make  additions  to  these  compositions,  and  thus 
enrich  and  expand  a  topic  to  its  utmost.  Another 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  347 

frequent  amusement  was  the  recitation  of  poetry ;  he 
often  gave  extracts  from  "Bombastes  Furioso"  or 
Byron's  "Vision  of  Judgment."  "The  Baby's  De 
but,"  from  Horace  Smith's  "Rejected  Addresses," 
was  a  favorite  with  him,  because  it  parodied  Words 
worth,  whom  he  disliked  as  poet  and  man.  His 
memory  was  stored  with  an  inexhaustible  supply  of 
this  whimsical  kind  of  wit;  but  when  insomnia  made 
him  too  ill  for  it,  he  would  play  with  the  cat  or 
the  children  and  keep  silent.  In  many  instances 
these  diversions  were  simply  a  mask  for  hiding  his 
sufferings. 

Naturally  he  got  all  that  he  could  from  books. 
Mr.  Frothingham  gives  the  following  account  of  his 
reading : 

"In  his  earty  life  he  read  a  great  deal  of  the  best  Eng 
lish  prose  and  verse;  I  recollect  years  ago,  it  must  have 
been  when  he  was  in  college,  at  his  father's  house  on 
Bowdoin  Square,  a  question  arose  in  regard  to  Dr.  John 
son,  and  Francis  expressed  an  idea  of  the  Doctor's  char 
acter  which  showed  him  to  be  familiar  with  his  writings. 
This  love  of  the  best  English  literature  he  kept  alive 
through  college  and  all  his  life.  He  had  a  great  enthusi 
asm  as  a  youth  for  Milton  ;  Shakespere  he  always  had 
by  him.  In  mottoes  prefixed  to  his  'Vassall  Morton,' 
I  find  the  names  of  thirty  poets.  It  would  not  be  safe, 
of  course,  to  presume  that  he  had  read  all  these,  but  it 
is  safe  to  say  that  Shakespere,  Pope,  Scott,  Byron,  the 
'Percy  Reliques,7  Sir  David  Lindsay,  Campbell,  Moliere, 
were  familiar  to  him.  His  taste  was  for  heroic  and  not 
for  sentimental  writing.  I  should  say  that  he  might 


348  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

prefer  the  book  of  '  Proverbs ?  to  the  book  of  '  Psalms ' ; 
the  Gospel  of  Matthew  to  the  Gospel  of  John;  Scott  to 
Shelley;  for  he  had  no  relish  for  metaphysics  or  abstrac 
tions  of  any  kind,  scientific  or  other.  His  dislike  of 
everything  morbid  —  melancholy,  misanthropy,  depres 
sion —  amounted  to  abhorrence,  and  if  he  could  not  be 
cheerful  he  went  away  if  he  was  able;  and  if  not,  he 
held  his  tongue  or  turned  to  merry  thoughts." 

This  account  is  true  as  far  as  it  goes ;  but  it  does 
not  go  beyond  his  early  manhood.  He  had  taste  and 
capacity  for  a  varied  culture  within  certain  lines; 
but  during  all  the  latter  half  of  his  life  it  was  neces 
sary  for  him  to  avoid  serious  topics  and  to  seek  in 
reading  chiefly  amusement.  He  listened  with  most 
pleasure  to  those  works  of  fiction  that  are  objective 
in  content  and  treatment,  and  full  of  stirring  inci 
dents.  Jane  Austen,  Stevenson,  Haggard,  Dumas, 
were  among  his  favorites,  and  he  enjoyed  every  repe 
tition  of  "Pickwick"  as  if  it  had  been  new  to  him. 
The  "  Nation  "  was  read  to  him  every  week,  also  any 
article  of  unusual  interest  in  the  periodicals.  He 
would  tolerate  nothing  dreamy,  sentimental,  untruth 
ful,  metaphysical,  or  philanthropic.  He  disliked 
Victor  Hugo  for  exaggeration,  as,  for  example,  in 
making  the  dwarf  on  the  tower  of  Notre  Dame  per 
form  the  impossible  feat  of  casting  off  the  ladder 
after  it  had  been  loaded  with  the  assaulting  party. 
He  also  put  Longfellow  aside  for  romancing  so  much 
in  "Evangeline."  And  although  enjoying  Du  Mau- 
rier's  "Peter  Ibbetson"  up  to  the  mystical  part,  he 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  349 

refused  to  hear  the  rest  of  the  book.  Of  Lowell 
he  wrote :  "  I  am  glad  you  like  '  The  Cathedral. ' 
Lowell  is  equally  estimable  as  a  man  and  as  a  poet."1 
His  growth  was  helped  again  by  his  labors.  He 
came  to  see  that  success  could  not  be  won  by  taking 
the  devil  by  the  horns;  that,  on  the  contrary,  he 
must  cultivate  patience  and  sweetness  as  remedies  for 
irritation  and  nervous  excitement.  His  theme,  deal 
ing  as  it  did  with  character  in  detail,  kept  him  alive 
to  his  own  course  of  development.  Ideality  was 
stimulated  in  him  by  a  disinterested  pursuit  of  schol 
arship.  In  following  his  literary  path  he  was  thus  led 
to  drop  some  of  his  native  hindrances,  and  mount  to 
regions  of  more  light.  Again,  his  life-long  study  of 
men  and  women  inevitably  brought  him  more  and 
more  in  contact  with  spiritual  elements  of  character 
and  developed  his  sympathy.  An  evidence  of  this 
was  the  fact  that  he  expressed  in  playful  ways  more 
affection  for  his  grandchildren  than  he  had  shown 
towards  his  own  children.  He  was  fond  of  boys ;  he 
liked  to  chaff  them  for  the  sake  of  getting  glimpses 
of  their  nature.  He  often  saw  at  a  glance  the  effec 
tive  forces  in  a  child's  personality,  and  narrated  or 
even  imitated  its  conduct  as  evidence.  His  interest 
in  little  folks  was  pleasantly  shown  at  the  gathering 
of  his  children  and  grandchildren  at  Christmas,  when 
he  watched  from  his  chair,  with  lively  interest,  the 
changing  groups  about  the  tree,  and  often  opened  a 
vein  of  character  by  some  question  or  bit  of  bantering. 

1  To  Dr.  George  Stewart,  Feb.  21,  1870. 


350  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

A  more  usual  and  characteristic  scene  might  be 
enjoyed  by  any  friend  who  should  have  called  of  an 
evening  at  the  old  house  in  Chestnut  Street.  The 
soft  colors  of  the  sitting-room  were  still  further  sub 
dued  by  a  mild  light  and  a  low  shade  covering  the 
lamp.  While  the  ladies  were  by  the  table  sewing 
or  reading,  Parkman  sat  at  a  distance  from  the  light, 
at  the  side  of  the  fireplace,  in  a  chair  that  was  erect 
and  firm  in  form  and  substance.  In  the  shadows  of 
his  corner  he  was  hardly  visible.  He  often  rested  his 
elbows  on  the  chair-arms,  and  meditatively  adjusted 
the  finger  nails  of  one  hand  to  those  of  the  other,  from 
time  to  time  separating  his  hands  to  see  if  he  could 
bring  them  together  accurately  again  with  a  sharp 
little  blow.  Meanwhile  the  reading  or  talking  of  the 
others  went  on.  He  occasionally  looked  up  at  a 
speaker  with  a  direct  and  decided  way  to  ask  a 
question  or  pass  a  remark ;  but  generally  he  saved  his 
eyes  by  keeping  them  lowered  on  his  finger-tips  or  on 
the  floor.  Though  he  was  never  a  dreamer,  absent 
ing  himself  in  mind  from  his  companions,  he  often 
passed  the  evening  without  joining  much  in  the  con 
versation.  At  other  times  he  would  be  full  of  quiet 
talk. 

His  summer  home  was  on  the  southwestern  shore 
of  Jamaica  Pond,  a  small  body  of  water  now  incor 
porated  in  the  parks  of  Boston.  The  pond  is  pleas 
antly  surrounded  by  the  groves  and  grounds  of 
suburban  residences.  His  choice  of  this  location 
proved  to  be  a  very  happy  one,  in  giving  not  only  a 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  351 

beautiful  site  near  the  city,  but  especially  in  affording 
him  facilities  for  rowing  —  the  only  exercise  he  could 
take  in  periods  of  lameness  in  the  knee.  The  grounds 
sloped  gently  down  to  the  water,  and  were  very  in 
viting  with  the  shade  of  many  fine  trees  and  the  pro 
ductions  of  his  skill  in  horticulture.  The  house  was 
an  unpretending  wooden  structure,  furnished  simply 
and  comfortably,  and  kept  open  to  the  air  and  sun 
light.  Social  and  domestic  life  in  this  place  was  not 
different  from  that  of  the  winter  home ;  but  Parkman 
had  here  one  more  means  of  keeping  up  cheerfulness : 
the  daily  row  of  one  hour,  which  he  never  omitted 
or  shortened.  Such  frequent  turns  on  a  lake  only  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  across  would  have  become  insuffer 
ably  tedious  without  some  means  of  mental  entertain 
ment.  He  therefore  enlarged  the  Pond,  by  the  use 
of  far-off  names  such  as  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  and 
Bering's  Sea;  peopling  each  region  with  the  lions 
or  the  whales  appropriate  to  the  surroundings.  He 
kept  in  its  depths  a  terrible  ichthyosaurus  and  a 
fearful  sea-serpent.  To  the  very  cats  along  the 
shore  —  seen  or  unseen  —  he  gave  names,  characters, 
and  the  most  astonishing  experiences.  The  f amity 
of  muskrats  on  the  bit  of  an  island  were  visited  daily 
to  watch  their  building  and  domestic  doings.  One 
day  he  found  that  a  muskrat  had  brought  a  leaf  of 
grass  and  put  it  on  top  of  a  rock  sticking  above  the 
water,  whereupon  he  named  the  rock  "the  shrine." 
When  his  sister  was  with  him  he  would  let  the  boat 
stop  beside  it  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  ask,  with  a 


352  A   LIFE   OF   FRANCIS   PARKMAN 

reverential  and  serious  air,  "  Are  you  ready  to  leave  ?  " 
and  move  off  in  silence. 

In  these  later  years  he  spent  a  part  of  each  summer 
with  his  son-in-law  and  daughter,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Coolidge,  in  the  Wentworth  Mansion,  near  Ports 
mouth,  New  Hampshire.  The  old  farm  is  approached 
by  a  lane  winding  through  pine  woods;  the  stone 
walls  are  half  hidden  by  cedars,  barberries,  and 
vines ;  and  the  outcropping  ledges  of  rock  are  touched 
off  with  juniper  and  flaming  sumac.  You  come  out 
of  the  woods  at  last  into  a  field  on  the  end  of  a  point 
in  the  bay,  and  look  off  over  the  channels  winding 
among  islands,  points,  and  marshes.  On  the  left  in 
the  distance  may  be  seen  the  spires  and  masts  of 
Portsmouth,  and  in  front  a  piece  of  the  ocean  with 
the  Isles  of  Shoals ;  you  hear  the  surf  and  the  tolling 
of  the  bell-buoy  on  the  harbor  bar.  Passing  a  few 
old  apple-trees  remaining  as  memorials  of  old-time 
cheer,  you  come  face  to  face  with  the  Mansion.  It 
is  a  rambling  farmhouse  of  many  angles  and  gables, 
quaint  little  rooms,  mysterious  nooks  and  queer  pas 
sages,  and  one  large  room  where  the  governor's 
council  used  to  meet.  The  unkempt  naturalness  of 
the  grounds  and  shore,  the  colonial  plainness  of  the 
house  within,  the  spirit  of  simplicity  that  pervades 
it  all,  and  the  historic  associations,  made  it  a  pleasant 
and  appropriate  place  for  Parkman's  summer  days  at 
the  close  of  his  life.1 

1  He  described  the  region  in  chapter  xviii.  of  the  second  volume 
of  A  Half  Century.    Mr.  Barrett  Wendell  also  gives  an  attractive 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  353 

His  strong  social  instincts  were  another  important 
help  in  his  growth.     It  is  well  to  emphasize  this  side 
of  his  character  in  order  to  balance  the  effect  of  the 
sterner  elements  in  his  personality.     He  lacked  the 
overflowing  geniality  and  magnetism   needed  to  set 
the   social   currents   flowing  in  a  large   company  or 
club,    as  well  as  the  special   talents   required   in   a 
successful    diner-out.      In   meeting    strangers   at  a 
dinner  he  would  at  first  keep  silent,  while  taking  the 
gauge  of  those  present ;  and  he  seldom  led  in  conver 
sation  unless  drawn  out.     Notwithstanding  this,  he 
was  essentially  a  man  of  society,  liking  both  the  free 
dom  of  intimate  friendship  and  the  decorum  of  cere 
monious  intercourse.     Also,  having  seen  much  of  the 
world,  he  was  at  ease  with  all  sorts  of  men  and  in  all 
social  doings.     People  felt  him  to  be  a  "good  fellow." 
The  larger  demands  made  on  his  social  abilities  by 
the  presidency  of  the  St.  Botolph  Club  were  beneficial 
to  him ;  in  his  reserved  way  he  was  approachable  to 
everybody.     He   had   an   especial   fondness   for   the 
Saturday  Club,  where  he  met  a  few  intimate  friends 
in  the  freest   and  most   informal   intercourse.       He 
was  a   member  also  of  the  Union  Club.     He  often 
made  a  painful  effort  to  attend  the  meetings  of  these 
clubs,  and  sometimes  went  —  when  unable  to  climb 
the  stairs  —  just  to  greet  his  friends  in  the  hall.     On 
his  drives  about  the  country  he  would  frequently  call 

glimpse  of  Wentworth  Mansion  and  of  Mr.  Parkman  in  his  paper 
Francis  Parkman,  in  the  Proceedings  of  the  American  Academy  of 
Arts  and  Sciences,  vol.  xxix. 

23 


354  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

on  his  friends,  even  if  unable  to  leave  his  carriage, 
and  enjoy  a  few  minutes  of  their  presence  at  the 
door.  The  range  of  Parkman's  topics  of  conversa 
tion  was  rather  limited,  considering  his  intellectual 
abilities  and  his  fame.  His  talk  was  almost  always 
objective;  his  greatest  pleasure  seemed  to  be  the 
recounting  the  experiences  of  his  youth.  With  an 
excellent  memory  he  recalled  these  scenes  in  detail ; 
and  often  embellished  them  with  imaginary  incidents, 
rehearsing  them  with  all  the  vividness  of  recent 
events.  He  also  talked  frequently  of  nature,  telling 
anecdotes  of  cats  and  other  animals.  More  rarely  he 
condemned  in  his  conclusive  manner  the  political 
and  socialistic  tendencies  of  his  times,  —  irritating 
topics  which  he  generally  avoided.  Now  and  then 
he  enjoyed  shocking  a  prig,  or  taking  down  the 
dignity  of  self-assured  superiority.  He  used  to  tell 
of  a  visit  he  made  to  a  court-room,  where  one  of  his 
friends  sat  on  the  bench,  arrayed  in  his  robes  and 
stiffened  with  official  grandeur.  Parkman  winked  at 
him  on  entering,  and  enjoyed  immensely  the  pompous 
immobility  of  his  old  friend  in  failing  to  respond. 
He  knew  and  remembered  everything  which  affected 
or  interested  those  with  whom  he  was  intimate; 
knew  their  children  and  grandchildren  by  name 
and  by  character,  and  never  forgot  to  inquire  after 
them. 

Parkman  was  more  cheerful  than  humorous,  and 
more  humorous  than  witty.  Possessing  a  quick  per 
ception  of  humor,  he  was  yet  not  a  father  of  epigrams 


SPIRITUAL  GROWTH  355 

and  witticisms,  nor  even  a  stepfather  who  gathers  in 
the  facetious  offspring  of  other  minds.  He  left  us  no 
anecdotes ;  he  was  not  a  story-teller.  Though  often 
narrating  significant  incidents  that  happened  to  him 
self  or  others,  he  would  do  this  for  the  sake  of  some 
idea  brought  up  by  the  conversation  —  never  for  the 
sake  of  causing  laughter.  Mr.  Barrett  Wendell  gives 
this  truthful  impression  of  his  conversation : 

"  The  normal  impersonality,  the  animated  objectivity 
of  his  talk,  the  frank,  idiomatic  raciness  of  his  phrase, 
the  wholesomeness  of  his  nature,  made  you  forget  that  he 
had  ever  written  anything.  You  thought  of  him,  by  and 
by,  just  as  a  remarkably  friendly  human  being.  You 
forgot  even  that  he  was  not  exactly  of  an  age  with  you. 
Like  his  own  literary  style,  which  kept  pace  so  sensitively 
with  the  best  literary  feeling  of  his  day,  the  man  himself 
was  steadily  contemporary." 

The  spirit  and  effect  of  Parkman's  conversations 
were  like  those  of  his  writings,  though  more  fiery 
and  intense.  As  he  grew  older  he  lost  something  of 
his  early  reserve,  and  became,  at  least  with  intimates, 
more  interesting.  In  talk  he  never  philosophized, 
never  moralized,  never  posed  as  virtuous;  all  the 
same,  he  produced  an  elevating  effect  on  those  who 
heard  him.  Professor  Fiske  says:  "What  most  im 
pressed  one  in  talking  with  him  was  the  combination 
of  power  and  alertness  with  extreme  gentleness."1 

Parkman's  friendship  brings  up  the  necessity  of 
defining  two  important  terms  frequently  used  in  this 

1  Introductory  Essay,  Ixxvii. 


356  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

portrait  —  spirituality  and  sympathy.  As  we  have 
said,  he  showed  little  interest  in  religious,  philan 
thropic,  affectional,  and  sesthetic  matters.  These 
limitations  marked  his  lack  of  spirituality ;  yet  he  was 
free  from  materialism.  In  considering  his  sympathies 
we  must  distinguish  between  Parkman  as  a  citizen 
and  Parkman  as  a  friend.  His  sympathy  had  its  nar 
rowest  range  in  citizenship,  and  its  greatest  force  and 
freedom  in  friendship.  Yet,  speaking  broadly  of  his 
character,  he  was  kind-hearted  rather  than  tender 
hearted.  The  Puritan  generally  held  him  in  reserve 
not  only  as  to  expression,  but  also  as  to  feeling  in 
matters  relating  to  the  inner  life.  A  few  exceptional 
incidents,  however,  that  involved  his  deepest  affec 
tions,  revealed  a  tenderness  that  struggled  almost  in 
vain  for  expression.  Parkman's  friendship  was  most 
helpful  and  satisfying.  Its  distinguishing  qualities 
were  persistence  and  sincerity.  Conservatism  here 
served  a  good  purpose,  keeping  him  to  the  last,  in 
aims,  qualities,  and  opinions,  what  he  was  in  youth, 
and  thus  saving  his  friendships  from  variations  due  to 
growth  on  at  least  one  side.  He  kept  all  the  friends 
of  his  youth,  and  made  few  intimates  outside  of  this 
circle. 

Sentiment  never  broke  through  his  reserve,  or 
troubled  his  wisdom,  or  cast  a  doubtful  light  over 
his  expressions.  His  quick  understanding,  sincerity 
of  interest,  soundness  of  judgment,  steadfastness, 
and  the  winning  qualities  of  his  nature  —  all  gave  a 
most  assuring  sense  of  value  and  reliability  in  his 


SPIRITUAL   GROWTH  357 

friendship.  He  was  always  ready  to  help  a  friend  to 
a  position,  provided  the  applicant  seemed  fitted  for  the 
post;  otherwise,  he  would  not  only  refuse  such  aid, 
but  oppose  the  appointment.  Absence  never  made 
any  break  in  his  feeling;  he  took  up  an  acquaint 
ance  again  just  where  it  had  been  left  off.  When 
too  ill  for  social  intercourse,  the  mere  silent  presence 
of  a  friend  gave  him  pleasure.  He  had  a  comforting 
charity  for  those  who  were  unsuccessful,  and  for  all 
weaknesses  of  humanity,  outside  of  unmanliness  and 
meanness.  It  was  not  his  habit  to  discuss  or  criticise 
his  friends,  unless  their  characters  were  especially 
under  consideration;  at  such  a  time  he  would  state 
frankly  his  opinions.  The  needy  and  suffering,  young 
writers  wanting  counsel  or  materials  from  his  ample 
stores,  —  all  found  him  patient  and  generous. 

In  looking  back  over  his  life  one  is  struck  with  his 
prodigious  strength  of  character.  He  was  ready  to 
face  the  universe  if  nature  would  play  him  fair. 
She  had  played  him  foul,  yet  she  could  not  prevent 
his  victory.  In  his  patient  fortitude  under  suffering, 
in  his  persistent  industry  despite  the  greatest  obsta 
cles,  and  in  his  fidelity  to  his  ideals,  Parkman  was 
certainly  one  of  the  most  heroic  figures  in  the  history 
of  letters. 


APPENDIX  A 


BIBLIOGRAPHY   OF    FRANCIS   PARKMAN'S 
WRITINGS 

HISTORICAL  WORKS 
1851.     The  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac.     2  vols. 

FRANCE  AND  ENGLAND  IN  NORTH  AMERICA 

1865.  Part  I.        The  Pioneers  of    France  in   the   New 

World.     1  vol. 

1867.     Part  II.       The  Jesuits  in  North  America.     1  vol. 

1869.  Part  III.  La  Salle  and  the  Discovery  of  the 
Great  West.  1  vol. 

1874.     Part  IV.     The  Old  Regime.     1  vol. 

1877.  Part  V.  Count  Frontenac  and  New  France  un 
der  Louis  XIV.  1  vol. 

1884.     Part  VII.     Montcalm  and  Wolfe.     2  vols. 

1892.     Part  VI.       A  Half-Century  of  Conflict.     2  vols. 

OTHER  BOOKS 

1849.     The  Oregon  Trail  (first  published  in  the  Knicker 
bocker  Magazine  in  1847).     1  vol. 
1856.     Vassall  Morton,  a  Novel.     1  vol. 

1866.  The  Book  of  Roses.     1  vol. 

He  also  wrote  the  Preface,  and  a  translation  of  a  Sketch 
of  General  Bouquet,  which  were  prefixed  to  the  reprint  of 


360  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

the  "Historical  Account  of  Bouquet's  Expedition  against 
the  Ohio  Indians  in  1764,"  published  by  Robert  Carter, 
Cincinnati,  1868. 

1885.  "  Historic  Handbook  of  the  Northern  Tour"  — 
being  narratives  drawn  from  "Pontiac," 
"  Pioneers,"  "Jesuits,"  "  Frontenac,"  and 
"Montcalm  and  Wolfe." 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  PERIODICALS 
Some  of  which  are  advance  chapters  of  the  histories. 

To  the,  u  Knickerbocker  Magazine"  (not including  "The 
Oregon  Trail  "). 

1845,  March.      "The  Ranger's  Adventure."     By  a  new 

Contributor. 

1845,  April.      "The  Scalp  Hunter." 
1845,  June.       "A   Fragment    of    Family   History."     By 

the  author  of  "  The  Scalp-Hunter." 
1845,  Aug.        "The    New    Hampshire    Ranger."        By 

Jonathan  Carver,  Jr.,  a  poem. 
1845,  Dec.        "Satan   and    Dr.    Carver."      By    Captain 

Jonathan  Carver,  Jr. 

To  the  "Christian  Examiner" 

1851,  May.  "  Indian  Antiquities  in  North  America  "  (a 
review  of  books  by  E.  G.  Squier  and 
Lewis  Morgan). 

1851,  July.  "Squier's  Serpent  Symbol,"  etc.  A  short 
book  notice;  unsigned. 

1853,  January.  "French's  Historical  Collections  of 
Louisiana."  (A  short  book  notice.) 


APPENDIX  A  361 

To  the  "Atlantic  Monthly  "  l 

VOL.     PAGE  MONTH  YEAR 

*The   Fleur-de-Lis  at  Port 

Koyal  12       30     July  1863 

*The  Fleur-de-Lis  in  Florida     12     225     August  1863 

*The  Spaniard  and  the  Her 
etic  12    537    November      1863 

*The  Vengeance  of  Dominic 

de  Gourgues  14     530     November      1864 

Life   and   Times    of    Eed 

Jacket  (Stone)  19     383     March  1867 

*The  Founders  of  Montreal     19     723     June  1867 

Historical  Inquiry  concern 
ing  Henry  Hudson  (J. 

M.  Kead,  Jr.)  19     764     June  1867 

History    of    New    France 

(Charlevoix  &  Shea)         20     125     July  1867 

Madame  Biedesel's  Letters 

and   Journals    (Stone)     21     127     January         1868 
Charlevoix's     History     of 

New  France  29     499     April  1872 

*Jesuits'  Mission  of  Onou- 

daga  in  1654  30     687     December       1872 

*Early   Canadian    Miracles 

and  Martyrs  32       84     July  1873 

*A  Great  Deed  of  Arms  32     691     December       1873 

*Sir   William   Phips's  At 
tack  on  Quebec  38     719     December       1876 

*Wolfe    on    the    Plains    of 

Abraham  54     339     September      1884 

*The  Battle  of  Lake  George     54     444     October  1884 

1  The  articles  marked  *  were  published  as  advance  chapters  of 
his  histories. 


362  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

VOL.    PAGB  MONTH  YEAR 

The  Forests  and  the  Census     55     835     June  1885 

*The  Discovery  of  the  Rocky 

Mountains  61     783     June  1888 

(67     314     March  1891 

Capture  of  Lomsburg  by      U?     gu 

theN.E.Mihha  |6?     ^     ^  lggi 

*Acadia,     The     Feudal      (71       25     January         1893 
Chiefs  of  (71     201     February       1893 

To  the  "North  American  Review" 

VOL.  PASS 

74  147  James  Fenimore  Cooper. 

101  28  Manners  and  Customs   of   Primitive   Indian 
Tribes. 

103  1  Indian  Superstitions. 

107  370  Morgan's  Bibliotheca  Canadensis. 

*118  225  The  Ancien  Regime  in  Canada,  1663-1763. 

120  34  The  Native  Races  of  the  Pacific  States. 

120  469  Higginson's  History  of  the  United  States. 

*125  427  Cavalier  de  La  Salle. 

127  1  The  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage. 

129  303  The  Woman  Question. 

130  16     The  Woman  Question  Again. 

To  "The  Critic" 
1885,  October  31.     "  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes." 

To  "  Tilton's  Journal  of  Horticulture  " 
1869  to  1871.     Several  articles  referring  to  horticulture. 

To  "The  Nation" 

No. 

243       The  Tale  of  the  "Ripe  Scholar." 
585       Decouvertes   et   ^Itablissements  des  Franqais,    etc. 
(by  Pierre  Margry). 


APPENDIX  A  363 

No. 

618  Montcalm  et  le  Canada  Frangais. 

652  Une  Colonie  feodale  en  Amerique. 

666  Note  on  Kameau. 

680  Note  on  Kameau  (Chronicle  of  the  St  Lawrence). 

683  Mr.  Parkman  and  his  Canadian  Critics. 

702  Canada  under  the  Administration  of  Lord  Dufferin. 

780  Note  on  Joliet's  map. 

878  The  Rose. 

935  A  Book  about  Eoses. 

1085  A  French  Memoir  of  Colonial  History. 

1143  Note  on  an  Album  paleographique. 

1189  The  Fall  of  New  France. 

1193  Note  on  Indian  Sketches. 

1237  Une  Pelerinage  au  Pays  d'fivangdline. 

1347  AppendiculeB  Historicae. 

1472  Lake  St.  Louis. 

To  the  "Boston  Daily  Advertiser" 

(This  list  is  incomplete.     His  articles  were  generally 
signed  F.  P.) 

1861.  Wm.  H.  Eussell  and  our  Duty. 

1862,  Jan.  8.      Where  are  our  Leaders  ? 

1862,  Oct.  14.     Why  our  Army   is    not   the  Best  in  the 
World. 

1862,  Oct.  17.     Conservatism. 

1863,  June.          The  Weak  Side  of  our  Armies. 
1863,  July.          Aristocrats  and  Democrats. 

1863,  July.          Our  Best  Class  and  the  National  Politics. 

The  Nation's  Ordeal. 
1863,  July.          The  Chiefs  of  the  Nation. 

To  "  Applet on* s  Cyclopedia  of  American  Biography  " 

1866-67.      The    articles    on   Frontenac,    La   Salle,    and 
Montcalm. 


364  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

To  "Harper's  Monthly" 

1864,  November.     Exploring  the  Magalloway. 
1890,  August.          A  Convent  at  Koine. 

PAMPHLETS 

1887.     Some  Reasons  against  Woman  Suffrage. 
1890.     Our  Common  Schools. 

TRANSLATIONS 

The  " Jesuits"  and  the  " Pioneers"  were  translated 
into  French  and  published  in  1874  and  1882  by  Didier  et 
Cie.,  Paris.  Parkman  disapproved  of  these  translations, 
which  were  garbled. 

Three  of  his  histories  were  published  in  German,  viz. : 

"The  Pioneers,"  Auerbach,  Stuttgart,  1875. 

"The  Old  Regime,"  Auerbach,  Stuttgart,  1876. 

"The  Jesuits,"  Abenheim,  Berlin,  1878. 

And  "The  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage"  was  issued 
by  Springer  in  Berlin,  1879. 


APPENDIX  B 


FKOM  "THE  KNICKERBOCKER, "  AUGUST,  1845 

"THE   NEW   HAMPSHIRE   RANGER 

"  IN  the  Old  French  War,  a  body  of  Rangers  were  employed  on 
scouting  expeditions  around  Lake  George,  between  the  hostile  mili 
tary  posts  of  Ticonderoga  and  Fort  William  Henry.  Their  most 
celebrated  leader,  Major  Rogers,  with  a  large  part  of  the  men,  were 
from  New  Hampshire.  The  service  they  were  engaged  in  was  of 
the  most  severe  and  dangerous  kind.  In  parties  varying  from  two 
or  three  to  a  hundred  or  more,  they  scoured  the  woods  at  all  sea 
sons,  to  seize  stragglers,  intercept  convoys,  and  encounter  the  par 
ties  of  Canadians  and  Indians  that  the  French  were  constantly 
sending  out  to  annoy  the  English ;  and  whom,  unless  there  was 
a  great  disparity  of  force,  the  Rangers  almost  always  defeated  and 
beat  back  to  Canada. 

"  No  ordered  rank  and  measured  tramp, 

No  restless  flash  of  steel; 
Nor  the  long  line  of  dancing  plumes, 

And  ringing  trumpet-peal! 
The  soldiers  of  the  wilderness, 

A  rough  and  hardy  band, 
In  woodland  garb,  with  woodland  arms, 

We  guard  this  forest  land. 
'T  is  ours  to  breathe  the  battle  smoke, 

To  range  the  trackless  wood, 
To  struggle  with  the  howling  storm, 

And  swim  the  flashing  flood. 
Deep  in  the  gloomy  forest, 

Unseen  by  human  eye, 


366  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

We  track  the  foe,  we  strike  the  blow, 

And,  nameless  all,  we  die. 
The  scarlet  coat,  the  waving  plume  — 

Good  for  the  triumph  day  ! 
The  hunter's  frock,  the  cap  of  fur  — 

Good  for  the  battle  fray  ! 
Gay  warrior  of  England, 

Idling  the  whole  day  long, 
Drink  and  laugh  and  gaily  dance, 

And  shout  the  camp-fire  song. 
In  William  Henry's  sheltering  walls 

Enjoy  thy  mirth  and  cheer, 
We  guard  the  dangerous  wilderness  — 

No  danger  can  come  near. 
Yet  do  not  deem  that  I  complain  ; 

Soldier,  I  would  not  change, 
For  thy  safe  and  idle  slavery, 

My  own  free  forest  range. 
I  love  the  savage  war-whoop, 

And  the  whistling  of  the  ball ; 
The  woods,  the  rocks,  the  boiling  streams, 

I  love  them,  one  and  all. 
And  yet  their  memory  is  entwined 

With  thoughts  of  sore  distress, 
Of  famine,  grief,  and  danger, 

And  bitter  weariness. 
For  the  ranger's  gun  has  echoed 

From  a  thousand  pathless  mountains  ; 
And  the  ranger's  blood  has  stained  with  red 

A  thousand  limpid  fountains. 
Some  of  our  band  lie  wasting 

In  the  dark  noisome  dell ; 
No  friendly  ear  could  their  death-cries  hear, 

None  lived  their  fate  to  tell. 
On  stern  and  wild  Agiochook 

The  whitening  bones  are  spread; 
The  fish  of  crystal  Horicon 

Are  feeding  on  our  dead. 


APPENDIX  B  367 

The  ravens  of  Oswego, 

Slow  settling  on  the  plain, 
Tear  vainly  at  the  sinewy  limbs, 

And  soar  away  again. 
Some  have  died  by  famine, 

Some  by  the  headlong  fall, 
Some  by  wave,  and  some  by  frost, 

Some  by  the  foeman's  ball. 
Among  these  wild  green  mountains, 

And  o'er  this  gentle  flood, 
In  cold  and  heat,  by  day  and  night, 

Have  I  in  battle  stood. 
The  sultry  breath  of  August, 

December's  breezes  bleak ; 
The  sleet,  the  snow,  the  rushing  rain, 

Have  beat  upon  my  cheek : 
And  Nature,  I  have  gazed  on  thee 

In  thy  calmest,  sweetest  hour; 
And  I  have  seen  thy  frowning  face 

In  all  thy  wrath  and  power : 
Thy  gentle  smile,  thy  whispering  voice, 

Have  ever  a  charm  for  me; 
But  I  love  as  well  thy  lowering  brow 

Of  angry  majesty. 
I  love  thee  even  'mid  winter's  cold, 

When  trackless  lies  the  snow, 
And  the  boughs  of  the  loaded  fir-tree  bend 

Into  the  drifts  below  : 
When  in  the  sharp  still  evening 

The  sky  is  flushed  with  red, 
And  o'er  the  wide  white  wilderness 

The  crimson  glow  is  shed ; 
And  in  the  thickest  forest 

We  heap  the  snow  around, 
And  spread  the  boughs  of  evergreen 

Upon  the  frozen  ground. 
And  through  the  long  dull  night  we  hear, 

On  that  cold  couch  reclined, 


368  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

The  music  of  the  groaning  ice, 

The  howling  of  the  wind  : 
While  high  among  the  snowy  trees 

Swirls  up  the  roaring  blaze, 
And  the  bright  swarm  of  dancing  sparks 

Far  in  the  darkness  plays. 
I  lie  and  watch  them  wandering, 

And  gleaming  wide  and  bright, 
Like  fire-flies  by  the  orchard  side, 

On  some  soft  summer  night. 
But  how  the  blasts  sweep  moaning 

O'er  the  solid  lake  below, 
And  scatter  in  the  bright  moonbeams 

The  glistening  flakes  of  snow  ! 
And  in  the  tortured  forest 

The  pine-trees  tough  and  old 
Crack  sharply  with  a  sudden  sound, 

As  if  rent  with  the  biting  cold. 
Woe  to  the  wretch  who  wanders  lost 

In  the  drear  wood  to-night ! 
Like  the  sculptor's  chiselled  marble 

He  '11  be  ere  morning  light. 

But  the  fierce  heats  of  August, 

The  pale  sun's  noontide  blaze, 
When  each  hot  mountain  slumbers 

Dim  in  the  sultry  haze ! 
No  song  of  bird,  no  rustling  leaf, 

No  stirring  of  the  breeze ; 
Nought  but  the  drowsy  hum  of  gnats, 

Beneath  the  withering  trees  ! 
With  the  red  sun's  glare,  the  breathless  air, 

And  the  faint  and  pale-blue  sky, 
With  the  sleeping  flood,  and  drooping  wood, 

The  heart  sinks  languidly. 
On  yonder  rich  and  verdant  shore, 

Where  the  swelling  forests  spread, 
Glistening  beneath  the  fiery  rays 

On  the  shrinking  foliage  shed, 


APPENDIX  B  369 

I  know  a  cool  and  limpid  spring ; 

Its  laughing  waters  gay 
Steal  rippling  through  the  velvet  grass, 

Now  murmuring  on  their  way. 
I  could  fling  down  my  weary  oar, 

And  lay  me  by  its  side, 
Bathe  my  hot  brow  and  swelling  veins, 

And  watch  the  waters  glide ; 
The  cold  and  gushing  waters, 

The  pebbles  clear  and  white, 
The  maples  and  young  linden  trees 

That  shade  them  from  the  light ! 

Would,  by  that  merry  sparkling  spring, 

Beneath  the  fresh  cool  shade, 
I  might  sit  and  hear  the  sweet  low  voice 

Of  Hampshire's  blue-eyed  maid  1 
Mark  her  heart's  soft  emotions, 

By  many  a  sigh  confest, 
By  the  gleaming  of  her  melting  eye, 

The  swelling  of  her  breast. 
Then  would  I  loathe  the  bugle-note, 

And  curse  the  battle-cry, 
And  know  no  other  joy  on  earth 

Than  soft  tranquillity. 
But  let  the  poet  muse  and  moan 

In  fancied  desperation, 
The  tame  voluptuary  melt, 

In  selfish  lamentation  : 
Man  was  made  to  toil  and  fight, 

And  not  to  dream  and  sigh, 
And  woman  fires  his  failing  heart 

To  deeds  of  gallantry. 

Best  I  love  the  clear  cool  morn 

Of  the  bright  October  day ; 
When  the  mountains  glow,  and  the  lake  below 

Reflects  the  colors  gay. 
24 


370  A  LIFE   OP  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

When  the  fresh  woods  are  ringing 

With  the  screaming  of  the  jay; 
Where,  through  the  ruddy  maple  leaves, 

Pours  the  sun's  crimsoned  ray  : 
When  the  stiffened  leaves  are  rustling, 

And  dropping  from  the  trees, 
And  the  dark  blue  water  ripples 

In  the  light  morning  breeze  : 
And  far  aloft  against  the  sky 

The  mountain  summits  rear 
Their  black  rocks,  gay  with  leafy  plumes, 

In  the  sharp  atmosphere. 
Then,  by  the  island's  grassy  bank, 

I  fling  me  on  the  ground, 
And  snuff  the  breeze,  like  a  deer 

That  scents  the  distant  hound. 
'T  is  then  the  fire  of  health  and  youth 

Burns  high  in  every  breast, 
And  the  wild  zeal  to  dare  and  do, 

And  scorn  of  slothful  rest. 
'T  is  then  our  thoughts  are  proudest; 

The  dearest  joy  we  know, 
Would  be  to  hear  the  war-whoop  ring, 

To  grapple  with  the  foe. 
The  feelings  of  my  earlier  youth 

I  may  recall  again, 
When  I  was  a  lonely  wanderer 

In  the  wild  land  of  Spain. 
And  up  the  rough  Sierra 

By  the  faint  moon  I  rode, 
And  the  pale  light,  so  softly  bright, 

Rock,  gulf,  and  torrent  showed. 
I  looked  on  her  :  it  seemed  to  me 

That  I  low  sounds  could  hear, 
As  if  the  spirits  of  the  rocks 

Were  whispering  in  my  ear. 
And  strange  vague  thoughts  came  thronging, 

Thickly  and  dreamily ; 


APPENDIX  B  371 

Thoughts  of  loves  and  battles 

In  ages  long  gone  by. 
O'er  rock  and  stone  my  steed  tramped  on; 

Wild  chafed  the  haughty  beast ; 
He  champed  the  bit,  he  shook  the  rein, 

And  tossed  his  sable  crest. 
Mine  was  the  youthful  recklessness, 

The  high  presumptuous  soul, 
Soaring  elate,  defying  fate, 

Disdaining  self-control. 
Thus  up  the  steep  and  rocky  path, 

Careering  carelessly, 
Fearing  nought  and  heeding  nought, 

Went  my  brave  steed  and  I. 
And  then  a  softening  memory 

Rose  up  within  my  breast, 
Of  that,  of  all  things  on  the  earth, 

I  Ve  longest  loved  and  best. 
It  was  of  dear  New-England, 

Her  mountains  and  her  woods, 
Her  savage  rocks,  her  headlong  streams, 

Her  pure  and  gentle  floods. 
And  now,  from  wandering  returned, 

I  've  trod  thy  shore  again, 
Land  barren  of  the  corn  and  wine, 

Fruitful  of  fearless  men  ! 
Blooming  with  bright-eyed  laughing  girls, 

The  lovely  flowers  that  spring 
Luxuriant  from  thy  rocky  soil, 

A  matchless  offering ! 
And  I  have  armed  me  in  her  cause 

In  this  her  day  of  woe, 
Nor  vainly  fight  to  shield  her  right 

Against  her  hated  foe. 
But  how  in  such  a  scene  as  this, 

Can  thoughts  of  slaughter  rise  ? 
The  rich  green  hill,  the  waters  still, 

The  pure  and  amber  skies: 


372  A  LIFE  OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

When  nature's  sweet  and  powerful  voice 

Whispers  of  peace  and  rest, 
And  to  a  tranquil  tenderness 

Would  soothe  the  unquiet  breast. 
Our  toil  and  woe  are  well  nigh  done  ; 

Strain,  comrades,  at  the  oar  ! 
There  lie  the  walls  that  shelter  us, 

On  yonder  guarded  shore. 
I  see  the  frowning  rampart, 

The  rigid  palisade, 
And  slowly  rolled  in  swelling  fold, 

Old  England's  flag  displayed. 
Hark  to  the  rolling  of  the  drum, 

And  the  gay  trumpet-note, 
That,  softened  on  the  greedy  ear, 

O'er  the  calm  waters  float ! 
And  see  !  and  see  !  on  yonder  plain, 

The  long  and  glittering  line ; 
The  red  coats  glow  in  the  evening  rays, 

The  bristling  bayonets  shine  ; 
How,  'twixt  those  shadowy  western  hills, 

Upon  the  bright  array 
The  sinking  sun  pours  duskily 

His  last  departing  ray  ! 
Where  's  the  cold  eye  that  would  not  glow, 

At  yonder  gallant  sight ! 
Where  the  tame  heart  that  would  not  beat 

With  a  high  and  wild  delight  1 
I  love  that  broad  red  banner, 

And  the  stately  soldiery 
That  bear  it  on  through  blood  and  smoke, 

Always  triumphantly. 
Brave  Briton,  I  could  ever  be 

A  comrade  by  thy  side 
Around  the  merry  camp-fire, 

Or  in  the  battle's  tide  : 
But  I  cannot  brook  thy  haughty  brow, 

Thy  bearing  proud  and  high ; 


APPENDIX  B  373 

Thou  'It  make  a  cold  and  disdainful  friend, 

But  a  gallant  enemy  ! 
I  have  dreamed  it,  and  I  know  it, 

The  day  is  coming  yet, 
When  axe  and  rifle-butt  shall  clash 

With  British  bayonet ! 
No  more  through  dark  and  pathless  woods 

We  '11  hunt  the  savage  foe, 
Or  track  the  flying  Frenchman, 

By  his  footprints  on  the  snow ; 
But  hand  to  hand,  and  steel  to  steel, 

On  the  broad  open  field, 
We  '11  try  who  blenches  in  the  strife, 

Who  shall  be  last  to  yield ! 
And  I  have  dreamed  it  in  my  sleep, 

How  the  bullets  stormed  like  hail, 
And  the  red  bristling  ranks  went  down 

As  wheat  bends  to  the  gale  ! 
As  I  have  dreamed  it  in  my  sleep, 

That  sight  mine  eyes  shall  see  ; 
And  when  that  bloody  morning  comes, 

Right  welcome  shall  it  be. 

CAPT.  JONATHAN  CARVER,  JR." 
CAMBRIDGE,  MASS., 
June  25, 1845. 


APPENDIX  C 


THEODORE  PARKER'S   CRITICISM   OF 
«  PONTIAC  " 

BOSTON,  22  Dec.,  1861. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  have  lately  read  your  work  on  ' '  Pon- 
tiac,"  etc.,  with  much  pleasure.  I  have  gained  a  good 
deal  of  information  from  the  book  which  relates  to  a 
period  and  place  where  I  had  not  studied  the  Indians 
much.  On  the  whole,  it  seems  to  me  the  book  is  highly 
creditable  to  you  —  to  your  industry  and  your  good  sense. 
But  you  will  be  likely  to  get  mere  praise  enough,  and 
asked  me  to  speak  discriminatingly  of  the  work,  so  I  will 
write  down  things  which  occurred  to  me  in  reading  the 
book,  and  in  studying  some  parts  of  it.  I  will  speak  of 
the  substance,  the  arrangement  and  the  style;  of  the 
timber,  the  jpZcw,  and  tine  finish  of  it. 

I.  Of  the  substance,  that  is  the  sentiments  and  ideas. 
You  evidently  have  a  fondness  for  the  Indian  —  not  a 
romantic  fondness,  but  one  that  has  been  tempered  by 
sight  of  the  fact.  Yet  I  do  not  think  you  do  the  Indian 
quite  justice;  you  side  rather  too  strongly  with  the  white 
man  and  against  the  red.  I  think  you  bring  out  the 
vices  of  the  Indian  into  more  prominence  than  those  of 
the  European  —  which  were  yet  less  excusable.  The 
treachery  which  you  censure  in  the  Indian  was  to  him  no 
more  a  violation  of  any  sentiment  or  idea  that  he  felt  or 
knew  than  it  was  to  a  Briton  to  fight  with  powder  and 
balls.  This  treachery  is  not  specific  of  Indians;  but 


APPENDIX  C  375 

generic  of  all  races  in  a  low  state  of  development.  It 
seems  to  me  Pontiac  was  much  more  excusable  than  the 
Paxton  men,  the  Owens,  and  the  like.  It  seems  to  me 
that  the  whites  are  not  censured  so  much  as  they  de 
serve  for  their  conduct  toward  the  Indians  in  three 
particulars : 

1.  In  the  matter  of  rum,  which  the  Christian  brought 
to  the  Savage. 

2.  In  the  matter  of  women  —  whom  the  Christian  took 
from  the  Savage  as  concubines  and  then  deserted  when  the 
time  came. 

3.  In   the   matter  of  treachery  and  cruelty  which  the 
whites  too  often  displayed. 

I  have  thought  you  were  a  little  unjust  to  the  Quakers. 
But  here  I  have  so  little  direct  and  positive  knowledge 
that  I  hesitate  in  my  judgment. 

One  thing  is  curious  in  history:  —  the  Teutonic  Race  in 
all  its  three  great  divisions,  —  the  Goths,  Germans,  and 
Scandinavians  —  is  naturally  exclusive,  and  loves  to  ex 
terminate  the  neighboring  tribes.  On  the  other  side,  the 
Celts  and  Greco-Italian  stock  assimilate  with  other  tribes. 
The  history  of  America  shows  the  same  thing  in  the 
conduct  of  the  English  and  the  French  toward  the  Indians. 
It  would  have  enriched  your  book  a  little  to  have  called 
attention  to  that  fact  —  not  generally  known.  It  always 
enriches  a  special  history  to  drop  into  it  universal  laws  or 
any  general  rules  of  conduct  which  distinguish  one  nation 
from  another. 

The  facts  of  history  which  you  set  down  seem  generally 
well  chosen.  The  historian  cannot  tell  all.  He  must 
choose  such  as,  to  him,  most  clearly  set  forth  the  Idea  of 
the  nation  —  or  man  —  he  describes.  Bancroft  chooses 
one  set  of  facts,  Hildreth  another,  and  how  different 
the  New  England  of  Bancroft  from  Hildreth's  New 
England ! 


376  A  LIFE   OF   FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

So  much  for  the  material  —  which  is  mainly  good 
ber,  —  now  a  word  of  the  frame  and  plan.     So 

II.  Of  the  distribution  of  the  parts.  The  title  indi 
cates  that  the  conspiracy  of  Pontiac  is  the  chief  theme. 
But  in  the  book  itself  it  seems  to  me  this  is  not  exactly 
so,  that  other  things  are  not  quite  enough  subordinated  to 
the  main  theme,  so  as  to  give  unity  to  the  whole  book. 
The  barn  is  a  little  too  near  the  house  and  the  shed  a  little 
too  prominent  for  the  general  effect  of  the  house  itself. 
This  appears  as  you  look  over  the  table  of  contents,  when 
Pontiac  and  his  scheme  are  not  the  central  object  about 
which  the  rest  is  grouped.  So  the  book  lacks  the  dramatic 
unity  which  is  necessary  for  the  artistic  treatment  of  such 
a  subject.  Pontiac  does  not  appear  so  important  in  the 
titles  of  the  chapters  as  the  title-page  seems  to  demand. 
Then  the  book  lacks  a  sufficient  conclusion,  and  ends 
abruptly.  You  do  not  tell  the  effect  which  his  death  has 
on  Indian  affairs.  A  special  history  like  this  requires  at 
the  end  a  general  summary  with  the  philosophical  reflec 
tions  which  have  grown  out  of  the  historical  treatment  of 
the  theme. 

It  seems  to  me  it  would  have  been  better  to  have 
divided  the  matter  something  after  this  line : 

Introduction.  Containing  all  the  general  matter  rela 
tive  to  the  Indians,  their  origin,  geographical  distribution, 
language,  arts,  agriculture,  domestic,  political  and  relig 
ious  institutions.  This  is  now  too  much  scattered  about 
in  the  book. 

Book  I.  History  of  the  Indians  in  the  connection  with 
the  Europeans  up  to  the  time  of  the  general  rising. 

Book  II.  History  of  Pontiac  and  his  efforts  to  overcome 
the  Europeans. 

Book  III.  Result  of  the  movement  on  the  Indian  peo 
ple,  and  its  effect  on  their  subsequent  history.  Then  it 
seems  to  me  there  should  have  been  more  and  more 


APPENDIX  C  377 

obvious  unity  in  the  book ;  now  it  seems  as  if  tbe  materials 
have  been  collected  without  a  definite  aim,  and  that  the 
plan  was  not  quite  complete  until  the  book  was  done.  So 
much  of  the  plan  said  frame.  Now  a  word  of  the  finish. 

III.  Of  the  style  of  the  book.  Some  passages  in  it  are 
very  well  written;  in  general  the  style  is  good,  simple, 
natural,  easy.  But  there  is  a  general  lack  of  severity  of 
style,  for  which  the  great  Master  of  Roman  history  is  so 
remarkable.  Some  passages  remind  me  of  Melville  and 
Headley  —  whom  you  would  not  like  to  be  like.  There 
is  a  lack  of  what  is  characteristic.  This  appears  — 

1.  In  the  description  of  places.     You  do  not  tell  what 
kind  of  trees,  etc.,  there  were,  only  trees  —  leaving  us  to 
guess  whether  they  were  pines  or  palms,   bushes  or  tall 
trees. 

2.  In   the  description  of   persons,   the  book  lacks  por 
traits.     Wolfe  is  well  done,  so  is  Montcalm  (the  account  of 
Braddock  is  well  done).     But  the  picture  of  Pontiac  is  not 
adequate  to  his  important  place  in  the  history.      It  strikes 
me  that  Johnson  is  not  very  well  done.     Some  passages 
are  left  too  imperfect.     It  seems  as  if  you  got  vexed  with 
the  thing  and  struck  out  a  little  recklessly,  to  hit  or  miss 
as  it  might  happen.     The  style  of  the  book  often  indicates 
haste  —  as   do  almost  all   American  books  —  like    every 
thing  else  we  do. 

There,  sir,  is  not  there  a  list  of  faults  for  you?  Yes,  more 
than  all  your  critics  in  the  reviews,  I  suppose,  have 
found  with  you.  But  if  I  did  not  expect  you  and  think 
you  capable  of  better  things  than  you  have  done  yet,  I 
should  not  go  to  the  trouble  of  pointing  out  all  these 
faults.  You  seem  to  have  chosen  literature  for  your  pro 
fession,  and  history  for  your  special  department  thereof, 
and  I  do  so  love  to  see  literary  conscientiousness  applied 
to  explain  the  meaning  of  human  history  and  convey  its 


378  A  LIFE   OF  FRANCIS  PARKMAN 

lesson  to  mankind,  that  I  have  taken  the  pains  to  point 
out  particular  things  in  which  your  book  might  have  been 
made  better.  You  have  already  received  so  much  com 
mendation  that  it  is  not  necessary  I  should  go  into  the 
pleasanter  business  of  telling  you  how  many  things  I  like 
in  the  book.  Believe  me, 

Truly  yours, 

THEO.  PARKER. 
FRANCIS  PARKMAN,  JR.,  ESQ. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


ADAMS,  Eliza,  1. 

Agassiz,  261. 

Agassiz  Museum,  the,  46. 

Albany,  13,  60. 

Algeciras,  90. 

Allston  Street,  No.  4  A,  11. 

Alps,  the,  67,  68. 

Alton,  13. 

American  Academy  of  Arts  and 
Sciences,  the,  xii,  41,  353. 

American  Antiquarian  Society, 
the,  2,  41. 

American  Folk-Lore  Society,  the, 
41. 

American  School  for  Classical 
Studies,  the,  at  Athens,  252. 

Americans,  contrasted  by  Park- 
man  with  Englishmen,  86. 

Anantz,  143. 

"  Anciens  Canadiens,"  De  Gaspers, 
212. 

Andeer,  68,  100. 

Androscoggin  River,  the,  13. 

Angier,  John,  43. 

Anti-slavery  Question,  the,  287. 

Antoninus,  Marcus  Aurelius,  310. 

Apaches,  the,  286. 

Appian  Way,  Cambridge,  12. 

"  Appleton's  Cyclopedia  of  Ameri 
can  Biography,"  363. 

Arapaho,  286. 

Archaeological  Institute  of  Amer 
ica,  the,  36,  41,  251. 


Archives  of  the  Marine  and  Colo 
nies,  the,  at  Paris,  156. 

Arizona,  286. 

"  Atlantic  Magazine,"  the,  xii,  268, 
361. 

Athens,  252. 

Austen,  Jane,  348. 

Ayers,  Mrs.,  12. 

"  BABY'S  Debut/'  the,  347. 

Bachelder,  20. 

Baiae,  96. 

Baltimore,  17. 

Bancroft,  30,  182,  212,  283,  287. 

Bandelier,  252. 

Bangor,  Me.,  15. 

Bannestier,  252. 

Barnston,  14. 

Barre,  Charlotte,  232. 

Barye,  195,  343. 

Basle,  86. 

Batiscan  River,  the,  xi,  37. 

Beaufort,  S.  C.,  36. 

Beck,  Dr.,  18. 

Bemis  Camp,  the,  38. 

Benedictines,  the,  149 ;  church  of, 
149,  150. 

Bert,  Paul,  152. 

Bigelow,  Catherine  Scollay,  mar 
ries  Parkman,  27  ;  her  children, 
28;  death  of,  28,  334;  189;  in 
the  home,  337. 

Bigelow,  Dr.  Jacob,  27. 


382 


INDEX 


Bigelow,  Mary,  27  ;  assumes  care 
and  education  of  Parkman's 
children,  28. 

Blackhawk,  144. 

Black  Hill  range,  the,  323. 

Blossburg,  16. 

Bologna,  108. 

"  Bombastes  Furioso,"  105,  347. 

"  Book  of  Roses,"  Parkman's,  32, 
34. 

Boone,  Daniel,  284. 

Boston,  England,  2. 

Boston,  Mass.'l,  2,  5,  11,  15,27, 
29,  38,  47,  51,  80,  115,  129,  143, 
172,  319,  326,  343. 

Boston  Association,  the,  5. 

Boston  Athenaeum,  the,  34. 

Boston  Common,  42,  143,  343. 

"  Boston  Daily  Advertiser,"  the, 
257,  274,  279,  282,  288,  363. 

Bostonian  Society,  the,  41. 

Bourlamaque,  letters  from  Mont- 
calm  to,  158,  178. 

Bourke,  Captain,  252. 

Bowdoin  Square,  No.  5,  11,  347. 

Braddock,  215. 

Brattleboro,  Vt.,  25. 

Bre'boeuf,  Jean  de,  220. 

Breck,  Hannah,  1. 

Brighton,  102. 

Brimmer,  Hon.  Martin,  xii ;  Park 
man's  letters  to,  xiii,  80,  83,  321. 

British  Museum,  the,  158. 

Brook  Farm,  25. 

Brookline,  Mass.,  27. 

Brooks,  Rev.  Edward,  2,  6. 

Brooks,  Joanna  Cotton,  2. 

Brooks,  Peter  Chardon,  6. 

Brown,  Abigail,  2. 

Brown,  Rev.  John,  2. 

Bruce,  Robert,  202. 

Buade,  Louis  de,  see  Frontenac, 
Count. 

Buddhism,  313. 

Buffalo,  16. 


Burke,  74. 
Burlington,  13. 
Bussey  Institute,  the,  32. 
Byron,  199,  347. 

CABOTVILLE  (old  name  of  Chico- 
pee),  16. 

Cahokia,  70. 

Caldwell,  13. 

California,  283. 

Calton  Hill,  69. 

Cambridge,  Mass.,  80. 

Cambridge,  Vt.,  14,  143. 

Campbell,  347. 

Canaan,  14. 

Canada,  13;  Parkman's  trip  to, 
15,  147,  152;  the  Catholic 
Church  in,  148  ;  the  monasteries 
of,  154  ;  172,  187  ;  early  mission 
aries  of,  208 ;  the  old  regime  in, 
213;  251,  313,  320,321,331. 

Capuchin  Convent,  the,  112,  149. 

Cara,  97. 

Carlisle,  17. 

Gary,  George  Blankern,  18,19,22. 

Casgrain,  Abbe'  H.  R.,  xii ;  Park 
man's  letters  to,  xiii,  136,  204, 
205,  211,  213,  278,  283,  314. 

Castel  Termini,  93. 

Catholicism,  207. 

Centre  Harbor,  13. 

"  Century  Magazine,"  the,  xii. 

Chambersburg,  17. 

Chambly,  15. 

Champlain,  Lake,  13;  Parkman's 
visit  to,  15,  220. 

Champlain,  Samuel  de,  220. 

Channing,  Prof.  Edward  T.,  73. 

Channing,  William  E.,  312. 

Charles  II.,  202. 

Chatillou,  Henry,  35  ;  Parkman's 
estimate  of,  115. 

Chaudiere,  the,  35. 

Chauncy  Hall  School,  the,  12,  73. 

Chauncy  Place,  Boston,  72. 

Cheltenham,  158. 


INDEX 


383 


Chester  Factory,  16. 

Chestnut  Street,  No.  50,  29,  342, 
350. 

Cheviot,  the,  69. 

Chiavenna,  112. 

"  Chicken,"  the,  105. 

Child,  Prof.,  79. 

Chit-Chat  Club,  the,  16. 

"  Christian  Examiner,"  the,  28, 
360. 

Christianity,  313. 

Civil  War,  the,  268,  281,  287. 

Clarke,  21. 

Class  of  1844,  255. 

Cloaca  Maxima,  the,  at  Rome,  192. 

Coan,  Dr.  Titus  M.,  xii. 

Coire,  100. 

Colebrook,  13. 

Colico,  ill. 

Coliseum,  the,  at  Rome,  192. 

Colonial  Society  of  Massachusetts, 
the,  Publications  of,  xii,  6  ;  41. 

Comanches,  the,  286. 

Como,  Lake,  66,  69. 

Condottiere  Colleoni,  statue  of, 
139. 

Connecticut  Lake,  14. 

Connecticut  River,  the,  15. 

"  Conspiracy  of  Pontiac,"  the,  16, 
24;  Parkman  begins  work  on, 
25, 325  ;  completed,  27,  34 ;  123, 
154,  168,  170,  173;  declined  by 
publisher,  188;  publication  of, 
189;  201,  211,  237;  Parker's 
criticism  of,  374>-378. 

"  Convent  at  Rome,"  a,  xiii. 

Cooke,  George  Willis,  xiii. 

Coolidge,  Dr.  Algernon,  39. 

Coolidge,  J.  T.,  Jr.,  39,  352. 

Coolidge,  Mrs.  J.  T.,  Jr.,  poem  by, 
210;  352. 

Cooper,  James  Fenimore,  52,  68, 
78,  143,  144,  199,  219. 

Cordner,  Rev.  Dr.,  345. 

Corning,  16. 


Cottage  Street,  Brookline,   Park- 
man's  home  on,  27. 
Cotton,  Joanna,  2. 
Cotton,  John  \  2,  5. 
Cotton,  John  2,  2. 
Cotton,  Rowland,  2. 
Crawford,  Ethan,  99. 
Crawford,  Tom,  56. 
Crawford  Notch,  13,  14,  53, 54,  63. 
"  Critic/'  the,  xii,  362. 
Cushing,  252. 
Gushing,  Thomas,  72. 

DANA,  Charles  A.,  25. 

Daulac,  219. 

Denison,  Rev.  John,  2. 

Detroit,  16  ;  siege  of,  326. 

Devil's  Hole,  the,  16. 

Diaries,  Parkman's,   xiii,    52,    53, 

54-70,    85-123,    132,   133,    143, 

148-152,  192-194,  196,  197,  201, 

202,  217,  267,  283,309. 
Dinwiddie,  183. 
Divinity  Hall,  No.  7,  13,  19. 
Dixville  Notch,  13. 
Dorchester,  Mass.,  1. 
Dorchester  Avenue,  Milton  Lower 

Falls,  Parkman's  home  at,  27. 
Dumas,  Alexandre,  348. 
Du  Maurier,  348. 
"  Dumb  Boy  of  Genoa,"  the,  105. 

EDINBURGH,  69,  202. 

Eliot,  President  Charles  W.,  256, 
257. 

Eliot,  S.,  106. 

Elliott,  Dr.  S.  R.,  recollections  of 
Parkmau,  52. 

Ellis,  Dr.  George  E.,  xii;  Park 
man's  letter  to,  xiii,  315  ;  166. 

England,  146,  187,  190,  196,  222, 
279,  320. 

Englishmen,  contrasted  by  Park 
man  with  Americans,  86. 

'  English  6,"  264. 


384 


INDEX 


Essex,  13. 

Europe,  Parkman's  visit  to,  15. 
Everett,  Edward,  243. 
"  Exploring  the  Magalloway,"  xiii, 
60. 

"  FAILURE  of  Universal  Suffrage," 
Parkman's,  262,  267,  268,  269, 
270,  272,  273,  275,  276,  277,  287. 

Farnham,  C.  H.,  xii ;  Parkraan 
camps  with,  37. 

Farnsworth,  20. 

Ferland,  206. 

Fernaudina,  36. 

Ferrera,  the  valley  of,  67. 

Feudalism,  207. 

Fifth  Symphony,  the,  194. 

Fiske,  Prof.  John,  xii;  on  Park 
man's  perseverance  under  diffi 
culties,  179,  216,231,355. 

Fletcher,  Miss,  252. 

Florence,  132. 

Florida,  Parkman's  journey  to,  36. 

"Forum,"  the,  xii. 

Fourierites,  the,  120. 

France,  146,  147,  187,  190,  219, 
225,  233,  320. 

"  France  in  the  New  World,"  327, 
331. 

Franconia  Notch,  13. 

Franklin,  Benjamin,  278. 

Frederick  the  Great,  220. 

French  and  Indian  War,  the,  51,75. 

French  Canadians,  the,  Parkman 
visits,  35,  285. 

"French  Explorers  in  the  Great 
West,"  331. 

French  Revolution,  the,  291. 

Fresh  Pond,  130. 

Frog  Pond,  the,  42. 

Frontenac,  Count,  207,  215,  220, 
224,  225,  331. 

"  Frontenac  and  New  France  un 
der  Louis  XIV.,"  publication  of, 
36  ;  224,  225. 


Frothingham,  Rev.  O.  B.,  his 
"  Francis  Parkman,"  xii,  6,  43, 
130,307,310,311,347. 

GARDEN  Street,  Cambridge,  12. 

Garneau,  186,  206,  212. 

Gamier,  221. 

Garrison,  William  Lloyd,  278. 

Gaspe',  De,  212. 

George,  Lake,  13 ;  Parkman's 
fondness  for,  14 ;  Parkman's 
visits  to,  15,  36,  60,  66,  67,  220, 
267. 

George,  Fort,  36. 

German  Spas,  the,  39. 

Giarri,  109. 

Gibraltar,  64,  65,  90. 

Girgenti,  116. 

Glens  Falls,  13,  60. 

Godkin,  E.  L.,  on  Parkman's  per 
sonal  appearance,  9. 

"  Golden  Farmer,"  the,  105. 

Gould,  Benjamin  Apthorp,  12,  20, 
75 ;  letters  from  Parkman  to, 
177,  293. 

Gray,  261. 

Great  Barrington,  16. 

Grenada,  132. 

Grisons,  the,  valleys  of,  100. 

Giuseppe,  Parkman's  guide,  98, 
150. 

Gury,  152. 

HAGGARD,  Rider,  348. 

Hale,  Hon.  George  S.,  xii ;  Park- 
man's  visit  to,  14,  336  ;  letters 
from  Parkman  to,  22,  23,  80. 

"  Half  Century  of  Conflict,"  a,  14 ; 
publication  of,  39  ;  143, 160, 177  ; 
revision  planned  of,  178;  215, 
285,  352. 

Hall,  Caroline,  2 ;  sketch  of,  6-8 ; 
1 1,  45  ;  letter  from  Parkman  to, 
133  ;  death  of,  337. 

Hall,  Nathaniel,  2,  6,42. 


INDEX 


385 


Hamilton,  Alexander,  277. 

Hankredge,  Sarah,  2. 

Hanover  Street,  45. 

Hansen,  Mr.,  63. 

"Harper's  Magazine,"  14,  60,  61, 
151,  364. 

Harrisburg,  16,  17. 

Harrisse,  Mr.,  letter  from  Park- 
man  to,  156. 

Harvard  College,  xii,  1,  2,  3,  4,  6, 
12,  15,  35,  38,  40,  44,  52,  74,  75, 
82,  83,  132,  146,  152,  156,  200, 
254,  255,  261,  262,  264,  343. 

Harvard  Law  School,  the,  15,  79, 
80,  83,  120,  130,  133,  146,  200, 
321. 

Harvard  Natural  History  Society, 
the,  1 6  ;  Parkman's  collection  of 
minerals  presented  to,  44. 

Harvard  Theological  School,  the, 
259. 

Hasty  Pudding  Club,  the,  16. 

Haverhill,  Mass.,  2. 

Higginson,  Col.  T.  W.,  letter  from 
Parkman  to,  272. 

Highlands  of  Scotland,  the,  69. 

Holmes,  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell,  xii. 

Holworthy  Hall,  No.  9,  12,  76. 

Hope  Gate,  the,  15. 

Hopper,  the,  16. 

Hotel  de  France  et  de  Bath,  29. 

Howe,  Lord,  222. 

Hugo,  Victor,  348. 

Hunt,  William  Morris,  18,  98. 

Huntington,  Bishop,  on  Francis 
Parkman  (father),  4. 

Kurd,  Dr.  Isaac,  on  Francis  Park 
man  (father),  4. 

ILLINOIS  River,  the,  35. 

Incarnation,  Marie  de  1',  221. 

Indians,  the,  Parkman's  study  of, 
15,  24,  35,  75,  84,  134,  136,  142, 
143,  144,  145,  147,  190,  217-219  ; 


285. 


25 


Institute  of  1770,  the,  16. 
I.  O.  H.  Society,  the,  16. 
Irving,  Washington,  69. 
Isles  of  Shoals,  the,  352. 
Italy,  65,  87;  ladies  of,  113;  148, 
192. 

JACKSONVILLE,  36. 

Jamaica  Park,  32. 

Jamaica  Plain,  Mass.,  11. 

Jamaica  Pond,  27,  29,  312,  350. 

Jefferson,  Thomas,  278. 

Jericho,  13. 

Jesuits,  the,  66,  144,  152,  153,  217, 

220,  225,  301,  313. 
'Jesuits  in  North  America/'  the, 

84,  208,  232,  331. 
Jogues,  221,308. 
Johnson,  14. 
Johnson,  Dr.,  347. 
Journal  of  Horticulture,  Tilton's, 

32,  362. 

KEENE,  N.  H.,  14. 
Keokuk,  35. 

"King's  Bridge  Cottage,"  106. 
"Knickerbocker  Magazine,"  the, 
17,  22,  81,  360. 

LAFITAU,  144. 

Laloutre,  221. 

Lancaster,  13. 

Laramie,  Fort,  134. 

"La  Salle,"  156;  completion  of, 
172 ;  178,  221,  226,  227,  228,  229, 
236,  255. 

La  Salle,  Cavalier  de,  156,  177, 
215,  225;  Parkman's  descrip 
tion  of,  226-229;  308. 

"Last  Supper,"  the,  Da  Vinci's, 
193,  194. 

Laval,  Bishop,  220. 

Laval  University,  40. 

Lebanon  Springs,  16. 

Lee,  16. 


386 


INDEX 


Lee,  F.,  105. 
Lee,  Francis  L.,  31. 
Lexington,  Mass.,  6. 
Lilium  auratum,  the,  31. 
Lilium  Parkmanni,  the,  31. 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  278. 
Lindsay,  Sir  David,  347. 
Literary  and  Historical  Society  of 

Quebec,  the,  41. 
Little  Harbor,  39. 
Little  Magalloway  River,  the,  13. 
Lodi,  the  bridge  of,  194. 
London,  contrasted    by   Farkmau 

with  Paris,  88;  108,  172. 
London  Society  of  Antiquarians, 

the,  41. 

Longfellow,  Henry  W.,  25,  348. 
Long  Sault,  the,  34,  219. 
Louis,  Dr.,  133. 
Louis  XIV.,  147. 
Louisburg,  36. 
Louvre,  the,  21. 
Lowell,  Rev.  Charles,  25. 
Lowell,  James  Russell,  25, 26,  349. 
Lowell,  Hon.  John,  xii;   on  Rev. 

Francis  Parkman,  5;  186,   188, 

306. 

Loyola,  226. 
Luigi,  Parkman 's  guide,  see  Ran- 

nesi  Luigi. 
"Lyndhurst,"  11. 

"  MCCLURE'S  Magazine,"  xii. 

McGill  University,  40. 

Mackinaw,  16. 

Madrid,  39. 

Magalloway  River,  the,  13,  57,  58, 
60. 

Maine,  Parkman's  visits  to,  1 5,  24. 

Maisonneuve,  232,  301. 

Malta,  115. 

Mance,  Mademoiselle,  232. 

"  Manners  and  Customs  of  Primi 
tive  Indian  Tribes,"  Parkman's, 
271. 


Marengo,  194. 

Margry,  Pierre,  155,  156;  Park 
man's  letters  to,  157,  173,  186; 
252. 

Marquette,  Parkman's  description 
of,  221. 

Marston,  W.  A.,  106. 

Martineau,  Rev.  James,  311. 

Massachusetts  Hall,  No.  24,  13; 
No.  21,  13. 

Massachusetts  Historical  Society, 
the,  Proceedings  of,  xii,  6,  41 ; 
Parkman  presents  his  collections 
to,  160-161  ;  317. 

Massachusetts  Horticultural  So 
ciety,  the,  elects  Parkman  a  life 
member,  30;  32,  41. 

Medicine  Bow  range,  the,  323. 

Medford,  Mass.,  2,  6,  12,  42,  43, 
44,  45,  47,  72,  89,  319. 

MSdicis,  Marie  de,  220. 

Memphremagog,  Lake,  15,  61. 

Menendez,  220. 

Messina,  94,  115,  149. 

Mexico,  the  Gulf  of,  177. 

Michele,  118;  described  by  Park 
man,  119. 

Michigan,  144. 

Middlesex  Fells,  the,  12,  43,  106, 
319. 

Milan,  87,  99,  193. 

Milan  Cathedral,  the,  193. 

Millerites,  the,  120. 

Milton,  John,  347. 

Milton  Lower  Falls,  27. 

Minot,  F.,  106. 

Miscellaneous  Papers,  Parkman's, 
240. 

Missionaries,  the,  66,  208. 

Mohawks,  the,  15. 

Mohawk  Valley,  the,  197. 

Moliere,  347. 

Montcalm,  Marquis  de,  letters  to 
Bourlamaque  from,  158,  178; 
173,  215,  334. 


INDEX 


387 


"  Montcalm  and  Wolfe,"  15  ;  pub 
lication  of,  36 ;  39  ;  Parkman's 
general  intention  concerning, 
173;  177;  chastened  diction  of, 
203  ;  regarded  by  Parkman  as 
his  best  work,  204;  222,  224, 
255,  280. 

Monte  Pellegrino,  65. 

Moutmagny,  232. 

Montreal,  Parkman's  visits  to,  15, 
28,  34,  36;  Parkman's  descrip 
tion  of  the  founding  of,  232. 

Morris,  25. 

Motley,  123. 

Mount  Auburn  Cemetery,  40. 

Mount  Desert,  336. 

Murdock's  Tavern,  115. 

"My  Fellow  Clerk,"  105. 

NAPLES,  65,  95,  107,  110;  women 
of,  112;  194. 

"  Nation,"  the,  xiii,  213,  242,  272, 
348,  362. 

"  Neptune,"  the,  224. 

New  England,  144,  147,  148,  196, 
206,  208,  218,  253,  285. 

New  England  Historic  Genealogi 
cal  Society,  the,  41. 

"New  England  Magazine,"  the, 
xiii. 

New  France,  219,  224. 

"New  Hampshire  Ranger,"  the, 
365. 

New  Mexico,  286. 

New  North  Church,  the,  in  Bos 
ton,  3,  75. 

Newport,  16. 

New  York,  144. 

New  York  City,  25,  326. 

Niagara,  16. 

Niagara,  Fort,  16. 

Nipissing,  Lake,  35. 

North  Adams,  16. 

"  North  American  Review,"  the, 
253,  271,  283,  287,  288,  362. 


Northampton,  27. 
North  Yarmouth,  Me.,  6. 
Norton,  Charles  Eliot,  26. 
Nova  Scotia,  Parkman's  visit  to, 

28. 

OCALA,  36. 

Ocklawaha  River,  the,  36. 

Ogillallah  Indians,  the,  323. 

Old  French  War,  the,  24,  146,  187, 
320. 

"  Old  Regime  in  Canada,"  the,  36, 
66,  185,  205,  220,  271,  280. 

Onondaga  Castle,  16. 

"Oregon  Trail,"  the,  xiii;  gives 
striking  scenes  in  Parkman's 
life,  xiv;  the  trip  of,  17,  35, 
134,  135,  136,  144,  304,309,  343  ; 
Parkman  dictates,  25  ;  prepared 
for  publication,  26;  46,  58,  70, 
81,  115,  121,124,  130,201. 

Oswego,  16. 

Ottawa  River,  the,  35. 

"Our  Common  Schools,"  Park 
man's,  xiv,  254,  297. 

Overbeck,  the  artist,  193. 

PALATKA,  36. 

Palermo,  65,  110,  114,  119,  149. 

Palmer,  16. 

Paradise,  16. 

Paris,  28,  35,  39;    contrasted   by 

Parkman     with     London,     88 ; 

Parkman's  comments  upon,  100- 

101;  172,317,  335. 
Parker,  Theodore,  66,  95,  96,  312  ; 

his  criticism  of  "  Pontiac,"  374- 

378. 

Parker,  Mrs.  Theodore,  95,  96. 
Parkman,  Breck,  3. 
Parkman,  Ebenezer,  1 ;  sketch  of, 

2-3  ;  his  diary,  2. 
Parkman,  Elias,  1. 
Parkman,  Elias2, 1. 


388 


INDEX 


Parkman,  Eliot,  81;  death  of, 
340. 

Parkman,  Eliza  W.S.,  7,312,  334, 
338,  339,  345,  351. 

Parkman,  Francis,  Rev.,  2  ;  sketch 
of,  3-5  ;  11,  45  ;  letters  from  his 
son,  56,  57  ;  75,  79,  81  ;  letter  to 
Francis  from,  81 ;  258. 

Parkman,  Mrs.  Francis,  see  Hall, 
Caroline. 

Parkman,  Francis,  chief  interest 
of  life  of,  vii ;  his  extreme  re 
serve,  vii ;  his  thoroughness  and 
sincerity,  ix ;  singular  lack  of 
personal  elements  in  life  of,  x ; 
chief  publications  concerning 
life  of,  xii ;  little  unpublished 
matter  from  hand  of,  xiii ;  his 
autobiographic  letters,  xiii,  74, 
122,  140,  141,  163,  187,  190,  198, 
300,  315,  316,317,  318-332;  his 
miscellaneous  articles,  xiv ;  an 
original  man,  1 ;  his  descent,  1, 
2 ;  his  ancestors,  2-8 ;  effect  of 
his  ancestry  upon,  8 ;  limitations 
imposed  by  his  physical  organ 
ism,  8-9 ;  his  mental  make-up, 
9;  his  personal  appearance,  9, 
340-342  ;  birth  of,  11 ;  his  birth 
place,  11;  his  childhood,  12;  en 
ters  Harvard  College,  12;  his 
special  interests  at  Harvard,  12 ; 
his  college  rooms,  12-13;  his 
trip  with  Slade,  13-14;  his 
trip  with  White,  13  ;  his  fond 
ness  for  Lake  George,  14 ;  visits 
Hale  and  Perry,  14,  336  ;  his  trip 
to  Canada,  15  ;  his  trip  to  Maine, 
15  ;  birth  of  his  deep  enthusiasm, 
15  ;  visits  Europe,  15  ;  graduates 
from  college  and  enters  Har 
vard  Law  School,  15  ;  his  study 
of  Indian  life,  15,  24,  35,  75,  84, 
134,  136,  142,  143,  144,  145, 
147;  his  social  life  at  Harvard, 


16,  17-19;  his  research  through 
western  Massachusetts,  16;  his 
ambitions  focussed  on  a  definite 
work,  16 ;  his  trips  to  St.  Louis, 
16,  35,  70,  119,  121  ;  his  trip 
through  Pennsylvania,  1 7 ;  the 
trip  of  the  "  Oregon  Trail,"  17, 
70,  134,  135,  136,  144,  304,  310; 
his  reserve  as  to  his  literary  am 
bition,  19  ;  his  letters  to  Hale, 
19,  22,  23,  80;  his  early  begin 
nings  in  gathering  materials  for 
his  great  work,  24  ;  his  health 
gives  way,  24-25 ;  devotes  him 
self  to  medical  treatment,  25 ; 
dictates  the  "  Oregon  Trail," 
25  ;  begins  "  Pontiac,"  25,  325 ; 
Elliott's  recollections  of,  25-26  ; 
his  marriage,  27  ;  his  first  home, 
27;  his  later  residences,  27;  com 
pletes  work  on  "  Pontiac,"  27  ; 
"  Vassall  Morton  "  published,  28  ; 
his  trip  to  Montreal,  Quebec, 
and  Nova  Scotia,  28;  becomes 
unable  to  walk,  28 ;  his  family, 
28  ;  death  of  his  son,  28  ;  death 
of  his  wife,  28;  his  visits  to 
Paris,  28,  100,  101,  335  ;  his 
alarming  mental  condition,  29; 
returns  to  Boston,  29 ;  turns  to 
Nature  for  consolation,  29  ;  de 
votes  himself  to  horticulture,  29 ; 
his  success  in  this  field,  29-34 ; 
writes  "The  Book  of  Roses," 
32 ;  receives  appointment  as  Pro 
fessor  of  Horticulture  to  the 
Bussey  Institute,  32 ;  gives  up 
special  efforts  in  horticulture, 
32;  benefits  he  derived  from 
horticulture,  33 ;  visits  Wash 
ington  and  Richmond,  34  ;  an 
other  journey  to  Canada,  34 ; 
his  journey  to  Fort  duelling,  35 ; 
elected  Overseer  of  Harvard  Col 
lege,  35,  255  ;  again  visits  Paris, 


INDEX 


389 


35  ;  resigns  as  Overseer,  and  ac 
cepts  appointment  as  Professor 
of  Horticulture,  35  ;  again  visits 
Europe,  35 ;    visits  the  French 
Canadians,   35,    36  ;    the    "  Old 
Regime  "  published,  36  ;  chosen 
a  Fellow  of  the  Corporation  of 
Harvard,  36,  255  ;  "  Frontenac  " 
published,    36  ;    helps   organize 
the  St.  Botolph  Club,  36  ;  "  Mont- 
calm    and    Wolfe  "    published, 

36  ;  his  journey  to  Florida,  36  ; 
camps  with    Farnham    on   the 
Batiscan,  37  ;    his  camp  in  the 
Rangeleys,    38 ;    visits    Europe 
with  his  sister,  39  ;  his  last  jour 
ney  to  Europe,  39  ;  his  increas 
ing  maladies,  39 ;    "  Half   Cen 
tury  of  Conflict "  published,  39  ; 
characteristic   close  of   his  life, 
39  ;  his  death,  40  ;  honors  reaped 
by,  40  ;    his  membership  in  vari 
ous   societies,  41  ;   memorial  to 
be  erected  to,  41 ;  unconsciously 
began  his  preparation   for   his 
torical  writing  in  boyhood,  42 ; 
his    life    on    his    grandfather's 
farm,  42  ;  his  collection  of  min 
erals,  44 ;  zoology  naturally  at 
tractive  to,  44 ;  anecdotes  of  his 
early  life,   44-51  ;    his  favorite 
recreations,  46 ;  his  study  of  sci 
ence,  47  ;  his  essay  on  "  Studies 
of  Nature,"  49  ;    his   return  to 
nature,    51  ;     concentrates    his 
powers  and  activities  upon  writ 
ing  a  history  of  the  French  and 
Indian  War,  51  ;  his  remarkable 
preparations,    51-52 ;    his  jour 
nals,  52  ;  extracts  from,  54-70, 
85-122,  143,  149-152,   192-194; 
202  ;    a  narrow  escape,   54-56  ; 
letters  home,  56,  57 ;  "  Explor 
ing  the    Magalloway,"   60-61  ; 
goes  to  Europe  for  his  health, 


63 ;  his  surprising  indifference 
to  archaeology,  65  ;  at  Palermo, 
65,  110,  149;  at  Vesuvius,  65- 
66 ;  at  Lake  Como,  66 ;  crosses 
the  Alps,  67-69,  133  ;  in  Scot 
land,  69 ;  his  education  in  books, 
72 ;  his  early  schooling,  72 ; 
Cushing's  estimate  of,  72-73  ; 
independence  of  his  college 
course,  74,  146  ;  his  scholarship, 
77  ;  his  attitude  regarding  the 
law,  80-81  ;  letter  from  his 
father  to,  81 ;  his  study  of  man, 
83  ;  collects  materials  for  "  The 
Jesuits,"  84 ;  significance  of  his 
"  Vassall  Morton,"  84  ;  his  aver 
sion  for  philosophizing,  85  ;  con 
trasts  Americans  with  English 
men,  86  ;  at  Basle,  86 ;  at  Milan, 
87,  99,  193;  at  Piazenza,  87;  at 
Gibraltar,  64,  90 ;  contrasts  Paris 
and  London,  88  ;  his  tour  about 
Sicily,  85,  92  ;  at  Sciacca,  92  ; 
at  Messina,  94,  149  ;  at  Rome, 
86,  95,  151,  192  ;  at  Naples,  95, 
107,  194;  visits  Virgil's  tomb, 
96 ;  at  Cara,  97  ;  at  Subiacco, 
98 ;  in  Switzerland,  99  ;  his  let 
ter  to  Mary  Park  man,  101  ;  at 
Brighton,  102  ;  his  taste  for 
studying  character,  102-103  ; 
his  skill  in  reading  men,  103; 
the  "  Star  Theatre,"  104;  as  an 
amateur  actor,  1 05  ;  at  Bologna, 
108;  in  London,  88,  108;  rarely 
expresses  sympathy  or  admira 
tion  for  men,  109 ;  at  Giarri, 
109;  at  Colico,  111;  his  ready 
appreciation  of  manliness,  111 ; 
his  appreciation  of  the  feminine 
character,  112;  reviews  memoirs 
of  Mrs.  Riedesel,  113-114;  his 
remarkable  memory  of  the  eye, 
114  ;  free  from  class  prejudice, 
114-116;  describes  Luigi,  116- 


390 


INDEX 


119;  the  unity  of  his  life,  121  ; 
early  struggles  with  his  own  na 
ture,  122;  failure  of  "  Vassall 
Morton,"  124  ;  depth  of  his  early 
interest  in  poetry,  1 24 ;  his  re 
liance  on  words  and  deeds  as  in 
dications  of  character,  125-126; 
tragic  element  in  his  life,  127 ; 
muscular  development  his  early 
hobby,  127;  his  self-discipline, 
128 ;  his  gymnasium,  work,  128- 
129  ;  walking  a  favorite  exer 
cise  of,  129;  nature  of  his  ail 
ments,  131-138  ;  at  Florence, 
132 ;  letter  to  his  mother  from, 
133;  letters  to  Abbe  Casgrain 
from,  136,  204,  205,  211,  213, 
278,  283,  314 ;  his  individuality 
in  his  work,  139  ;  his  chivalrous 
turn  of  mind,  139  ;  his  intimate 
relations  with  his  work,  140  ; 
his  methods  of  working,  140- 
159, 170-172, 174-177  ;  his  study 
of  Romanism,  147-153  ;  his 
study  of  documents,  153 ;  his 
personal  address,  155  ;  his  strug 
gle  with  Margry,  155-157;  his 
letters  to  Margry,  157,  173,  186; 
his  discovery  of  Montcalm's  let 
ters  to  Bourlamaque,  158 ;  his 
manuscript  material,  160;  his 
triumph  over  difficulties,  162- 
164 ;  his  supernormal  energy 
and  application,  165-167 ;  his 
indebtedness  to  his  misfortunes, 
168  ;  effect  of  his  physical  weak 
ness  upon  his  work,  169-170; 
develops  a  remarkable  memory, 
171 ;  his  reserve  in  regard  to 
his  work,  172;  his  exceptional 
efforts  for  accuracy,  177  ;  letters 
to  Gould  from,  177,  293;  his 
pursuit  of  the  truth,  178,  182, 
204,  207  ;  his  philosophy  of  his 
torical  writing,  180-186  ;  his  de 


mand  for  original  sources,  1 83  ; 
choice  of  his  theme,  186-190; 
his  work  slow  in  being  recog 
nized,  189  ;  cannot  be  called  an 
artist  born,  191 ;  his  relations  to 
art,  191-195,  199  ;  his  relations 
to  nature,  195-199;  his  skill  in 
writing,  200;  his  style,  200- 
204 ;  his  love  of  strong  lan 
guage,  202  ;  a  "  Passionate  Pu 
ritan,"  210;  letter  from  Prof. 
Sparks  to,  211  ;  his  manner  un 
der  criticism,  211  ;  his  opinion 
of  other  historians,  212  ;  his 
methods  in  portraiture,  214;  his 
life  and  character  heroic,  216  ; 
his  imaginative  sympathy,  216; 
criticism  of  his  portrayal  of  the 
Indian,  217-219;  his  detesta 
tion  of  duplicity,  220 ;  his  likes 
and  dislikes  of  his  characters, 
220-229  ;  similarity  between  La 
Salle  and,  225-229;  sources  of 
his  power,  239-232  ;  his  external 
success,  236 ;  his  citizenship, 
239 ;  his  miscellaneous  papers, 
240;  the  "Tale  of  the  'Ripe 
Scholar,'  "  242-251  ;  stimulates 
a  love  for  thoroughness  in 
scholarship,  251 ;  his  interest 
in  public  schools,  252  ;  his  "  Our 
Public  Schools,"  254  ;  his  ser 
vices  to  Harvard  College,  254- 
256  ;  his  admiration  for  strenu 
ous  vitality,  237,  258  ;  his  amus 
ing  aversion  to  ministers,  258, 
311 ;  his  attitude  on  the  educa 
tion  of  women,  259-260;  his 
"  Failure  of  Universal  Suffrage," 
262-273  ;  in  opposition  to  nine 
teenth  century  civilization,  265  ; 
opposed  to  democratic  philan 
thropies,  265  ;  fired  by  the 
Civil  War,  268,  287,  303;  op 
posed  to  the  principle  of  equal- 


INDEX 


391 


ity,  268,  to  Woman  Suffrage, 
273,  288-294,  to  educating  the 
Indian,  285,  to  Universal  Suf 
frage,  287,  to  idealists  and  re 
formers,  295  ;  his  letter  to  Col. 
Higginson,  272 ;  his  religious 
opinions  and  feelings,  284,  311- 
314;  his  "Remarks  against 
Woman  Suffrage,"  288-294  ; 
his  definite  philosophy  of  civili 
zation,  294  ;  his  personal  health, 
298-300;  his  youthful  charac 
teristics,  300  ;  his  martial  traits, 
301-304  ;  his  love  of  action,  305, 
of  study,  306  ;  his  philosophy  of 
life,  308 ;  his  letter  to  Dr.  Ellis, 
315;  his  autobiographical  frag 
ment,  316-332  ;  his  reasons  for 
writing  it,  317;  letter  to  Brim 
mer  from,  321 ;  his  innate  con 
servatism,  333  ;  his  lack  of  hu 
man  sympathy,  334 ;  his  home 
life,  337;  death  of  his  mother, 
337 ;  assistance  rendered  by  his 
sister  to,  339 ;  death  of  his 
brother,  340 ;  his  homes,  342  ; 
his  library,  343  ;  his  sense  of 
humor,  345-346 ;  his  reading, 
347;  his  interest  in  children,  349  ; 
at  the  Wentworth  Mansion,  352 ; 
his  strong  social  instincts,  353  ; 
his  conversation,  354-355  ;  his 
friendship,  355-356  ;  bibliog 
raphy  of  his  writings,  359- 
364  ;  his  poem,  365-373 ;  Par 
ker's  criticism  of  "  Pontiac," 
374-378. 

Parkman,  Mrs.  Francis,  see  Bige- 
low,  Catherine  Scollay. 

Parkman,  Francis  3,  28  ;  death  of, 
28,  334. 

Parkman,  G.,  105. 

Parkman,  Grace,  28. 

Parkman,  Katharine,  28.  See  also 
Coolidge,  Mrs.  J.  T.,  Jr. 


Parkman,  Mary,  letter  from  Park 
man  to,  101. 

Parkman,  Samuel,  2. 

Parkman,  Samuel  (son  of  Eben- 
ezer),3, 11. 

Parkman,  Thomas,  1. 

Parkman,  William,  1. 

Parkman,  William  (son  of  Eben- 
ezer),  3. 

"  Parkman  Collection,"  the,  344. 

Parkman  Crab,  the,  31. 

Parkman  Professorship  of  Theol 
ogy,  the,  4. 

Patchen,  Captain,  13. 

Peabody,  Dr.  Ephraim,  5. 

Peabody,  Joe,  20,  23. 

Peltrie,  Madame  de  la,  221,  232. 

Penn,  William,  285. 

Pennsylvania,  Parkman's  trips 
through,  17,  144. 

Peoria,  111.,  35,  178. 

"  Percy  Reliques,"  the,  347. 

Perry,  Horatio  J.,  Parkman's  visit 
to  14;  21,  22,  78,  144. 

Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society,  the,  16. 

Philadelphia,  17. 

Phillips,  Sir  Thomas,  158. 

Phillips,  Wendell,  278. 

Piacenza,  87. 

Pierce,  Prof.,  77. 

"  Pioneers  of  France  in  the  New 
World,"  the,  34, 1 73, 1 82, 205, 234. 

Pitt,  William,  222. 

Pittsburg,  17. 

Plymouth,  Mass.,  5. 

Politi,  Signore,  117. 

Pompadour,  Madame  de,  220. 

"  Pontiac,"  see  "  Conspiracy  of 
Pontiac." 

Pope,  347. 

Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  13,  39,  44,  352 

Prairie  du  Chien,  35. 

Prescott,  30,  212. 

Puritanism,  206,  210. 

Puritans,  the,  5,  148. 


392 


INDEX 


QUAKERS,  the,  302. 
Quebec,  xi,  xiii ;  Parkman's  visits 
to,  15,  28,  35,  36  ;  224. 

RADCLIFFE  College,  259. 
Rameau,  213. 
Rangeley  Lakes,  the,  38. 
Rannesi,  Luigi,  Parkman's  guide, 

92,  93;   described  by  Parkman, 

115-119. 

"  Red  Jacket,"  Stone's,  213. 
"  Rejected  Addresses/'  347. 
"  Revue  Canadienne,"  the,  205. 
Rhine,  the,  68. 
Richmond,  34. 
Riedesel,  Mrs.  General,  Parkman's 

review  of  the  memoirs  of,  113. 
Rio  Grande,  the,  134. 
Ripley,  25. 
Rochester,  16. 
Rocky  Mountains,  the,  24,  46,  119, 

198,  323. 

Rogers,  Sarah,  2. 
Rogers  the  Ranger,  15,  220,  222; 

Parkman's  poem  on,  365-373. 
Roman    Catholic     Church,     the, 

Parkman's   study  of,   148;  285. 
Romanism,   Parkmau's  study   of, 

147,  148,  151,  152,  153,  207. 
Rome,  85,   95,   113,  133,  151,  192, 

193. 

Rossiter,  Joanna,  2. 
Rousseau,  Jean-Jacques,  278,  291. 
Royal   Historical  Society  of  Lon 
don,  the,  41. 

Royal  Society  of  Canada,  the,  41. 
R.  T.  D.  Society,  the,  16. 
Russel,  William,  73. 

SABBATH  Day  Point,  13. 

Sacs  and  Foxes,   the,  in  Boston, 

143. 

"Safe  Side,"  the, 313. 
St.  Augustine,  37. 
St.  Botolph  Club,  the,  36, 41,  353. 


St.  Johns,  15. 

St.  Lawrence  River,  the,  36. 

St.  Louis,  Parkman's  trips  to,  10, 

35,  70,  119,  121,  309. 
Saint   Michel,  No.  21  Boulevard, 

35. 

St.  Peter's,  at  Rome,  152,  193. 
Saint-Vallier,  220. 
Salem,  Mass.,  1. 
Saltonstall,  Elizabeth,  2. 
Saltonstall,  Hon.  Leverett,  xii. 
"  Sam  Hall,"  194. 
Sandwich,  2,  16. 
San  Francisco,  340. 
San  Martino,  150;  monastery  of, 

150;  151. 
Santander,  39. 
Saratoga,  13,  60. 
Sargent,  Prof.,  41. 
"  Satan,"  Parkman's  rifle,  130. 
Saturday  Club,  the,  353. 
SaultSte.  Marie,  16. 
"  Scalp  Hunter,"  the,  xiii. 
Schooner  Head,  336. 
Schutte,  Mrs.,  17. 
Sciacca,  92. 
Scotland,  69,  202. 
Scott,  Walter,  69,  73,  199,  203, 347. 
Seneca  Lake,  16. 
Shakespeare,  Parkman's  fondness 

for,  347. 

Shaw,J.  C.,  105,  106. 
Shaw,  Robert,  26. 
Shea,  J.  G.,  letter  from  Parkman 

to,  178. 
Shelley,  348. 
Shimmin,  C.,  105,  106. 
Sicily,  70,  89,  92  ;  country  inns  of, 

93;   women  of,  112;  148,  151. 
Sidmouth,  England,  1. 
Silliman,  Prof.,  54. 
Sioux,  the,  218. 
Slade,  Daniel  D.,  Parkman's  trips 

with,  13,  14,  58. 
Smith,  Horace,  347. 


INDEX 


393 


Snelling,  Fort,  Parkman's  journey 
to,  35. 

Snow,  21. 

Snow,  Mr.,  64. 

"  Some  of  the  Reasons  against  Wo 
man's  Suffrage,"  Parkman's,  288. 

Spain,  132,  146. 

Sparks,  Prof.,  letter  to  Parkman 
from,  211. 

Spliigen  Pass,  the,  67. 

Springfield,  16. 

Standish,  Miles,  218. 

Stanstead,  14. 

"  Star  Theatre,"  the,  104-105. 

Staten  Island,  25,  326. 

Stembel,  Commodore,  340. 

Stephentowu,  16. 

Stevens,  252. 

Stevenson,  R.  L.,  348. 

Stewart,  Dr.  George,  letter  from 
Parkman  to,  349. 

Stockbridge,  16. 

Stoics,  the,  310. 

Stone,  his  "  Red  Jacket,"  213. 

Story,  William,  2. 

Subiacco,  98. 

Switzerland,  99. 

Syracuse,  16. 

"TALE   of  the   'Ripe   Scholar,'" 

the,  242-251. 

"  Taming  of  the  Shrew,"  the,  105. 
"  Teatro  Sebeto,"  the,  107. 
Tete  Rouge,  304. 
Thayer,  Gideon,  72. 
Thoreau,  196. 
Ticonderoga,  3,  13. 
Tonty,  Henri  de,  220. 
Trask,  Sarah,  1. 
Treadwell,  21. 
Trenton,  17. 
Trois  Freres,  the,  21. 
Trout  Run,  16. 
Troy,  14. 
Two  Mountains,  34. 


UNDERBILL,  14. 

Union  Club,  the,  353. 

United  States,  the,  280,  331. 

"  Universal  Suffrage,"  Parkman 
on,  xiv. 

Universal  Suffrage,  Parkman  op 
posed  to,  262,  287. 

"VASSALL  Morton,"  xiv;  pub 
lished,  28,  34,  84  ;  heroine  of, 
114,  123,  124;  failure  of,  124, 
189;  237,305,  306,  314,  336,  338, 
341,  347. 

Venice,  139. 

Versailles,  193,  224. 

Very's,  21. 

Vesuvius,  Mount,  65. 

Vimont,  232. 

Vinci,  Leonardo  da,  193 ;  his 
"Last  Supper,"  194. 

Virgil,  tomb  of,  96. 

WALNUT  Street,  No.  8,  29. 

Ward,  Rev.  Julius  H.,  xii. 

Washington,  D.  C.,  17,  34. 

Washington,  George,  277. 

Washington,  Mount,  13,  14,  16. 

Wendell,  Barrett,  writes  memoir 
of  ''  Francis  Parkman,"  xii, 
352,  355. 

Wentworth  Mansion,  39,  40 ;  de 
scription  of,  352. 

Westborough,  Mass.,  1,  2,  3. 

West  New  Brighton,  25. 

Wheelwright,  Edward,  his  "Me 
moir  of  Francis  Parkman,"  xii, 
2,3,5,  6,  12,  14,  17-19,  46,  73, 
77,  78,  129,  130;  his  "Class  of 
1844,"  16. 

Whipple,  Edwin  P.,  on  Francis 
Parkman  (father),  4. 

Whirlwind,  the,  134. 

White,  Henry  Orne,  Parkman's 
trip  with,  13. 

White  Mountain  Notch,  the,  53. 


394 


INDEX 


White  Mountains,  the,  14,  15. 
Windsor,  16. 

Winnipesaukee,  Lake,  13. 
Winsor,  Justin,  xii,  183. 
Winthrop,  Hon.  Robert  C.,  xii. 
Wisconsin,  144. 
Wild,  20. 

Willey  House,  the,  54. 
Williams,  Mr.,  143. 
Williams  College,  40. 
Williamsport,  16. 
Willis,  25. 


Wolfe,  35,  215  ;  Parkman's  de 
scription  of,  222. 

Woman-suffrage  opposed  by  Park- 
man,  273,  288. 

"  Woman  Suffrage,"  Parkman  on, 
xiv. 

Worcester,  Mass.,  3. 

Wordsworth,  William,  196,  338, 
347. 

Wyman,  261. 

YODMANS,  Prof.,  25. 


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